One
by orangish2
Summary: In which Percival Graves gets to know Credence Barebone, and hopes to separate the Obscurus. - Credence/Original Percival Graves. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**One**

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

A dream.

He's in a dream.

Floating. He's buoyed by his thoughts, his subconscious, surrounded by mild darkness, like the colour of the sky at dusk. Ink black hair. Gloomy eyes. Pale skin. Sunken cheeks. Swollen lips. Who's that?

He reaches for the young man sitting ahead of him. He sees his arm outstretched, but it doesn't feel like it's his arm. The young man is sitting, seemingly defying the lack of gravity present, and hunched forward, shyly looking up every other second. Percival Graves has no idea who this young man is, but he seems so familiar. So close. He's sort of pretty, too.

"Graves!"

Percival looks around, confused. It's a woman's voice, filled with urgency, so it can't be from this boy. Who is it?

"Graves, hold on…"

The woman's voice seems to be right above him, but upward, he can't see anyone. It's just all darkness, darkness, darkness. The voice is so recognizable, though. Clearly Tina Goldstein. That woman's a total keeper on his team.

Team.

Work.

MACUSA.

A jolt of panic runs through Percival. What about his work? Merlin, how much paperwork is there? How long has he been sleeping? Did he oversleep? Why does Goldstein sound so urgent? Why's his right arm starting to hurt? So many questions, and Percival's head begins to spin. He feels gravity weighing him down. He'd liked it so much before. He was comfortable, drifting—almost like there weren't any worries. The young man in front of him had vanished into wisps of smoke.

Percival's arm seriously hurts now. And his left leg, too. He feels like he's waking up, sort of—waking up from what, though? Voices start to echo around him, a little clearer each time. He strains to listen.

"Take him to the Healers, he's got a few broken limbs—"

"We need to check how much damage his brain's suffered—"

"—the damage the _Imperius_ curse can cause—"

The _Imperius_ curse. That's what this feels like.

In an instant, all the Auror training that Percival's been ingrained with kicks into action and his brain goes full-steam ahead. Analysis of the situation. He's had an _Imperius_ curse on him, and if he remembers correctly, if his memories are still in place, he had been ambushed in his own home. By whom? By whom…

Gellert Grindelwald.

Of course. He'd duelled, he'd been Disarmed, he'd lost… Shame floods through him at the realization. What else had happened to him if he was under the _Imperius_ curse? Was he forced to do inexplicable acts? Forget the regret, forget the shame. Focus on the now. Solution. Percival fights to regain control of his sight. He still can't see anything.

In an instant, his world is filled with light. Blindfolds. He feels the fabric ripped from his face. Adjusting to the light, and fully aware of the pain burning through his limbs, and the _immense_ headache brought upon by all this new sensory input, Percival makes out the forms of Tina Goldstein and several other wizards and witches dressed in white. Healers. They're whispering incantations over his body and he feels things fixing itself. One is pouring a clear liquid into a vial.

"Graves, Graves—"

"Goldstein?" Percival croaks out, but it's the only thing he does until the Healer with the vial drips something into his dry mouth and his world is returned to darkness. This time, he doesn't dream.

* * *

Percival is eventually released from the New York General Magic Hospital after two weeks. Seraphina Picquery had visited just before getting discharged.

"You're off work for two months, Graves. I don't expect to see you until Grindelwald's trial, in which you will be testifying to his attack on you," she had said. "Recover and make sure you're in working condition. When you return, much will have been done and will be done in terms of security measures."

Percival had bowed his head and murmured assent. How can he refuse? He'd learned it had been four—no, five months since his capture, since Grindelwald had begun impersonating him via Polyjuice potion. He'd been held in the confines of his house, tied and beaten in his basement. His right tibia and fibula had shattered. Hex and curse scars covered his entire body, ones that the Healers had incredible difficulty with removing: too deep and full of dark magic. He was found a few days later, on the brink of starvation and dehydration.

Nobody had noticed.

That's what strikes Percival most. Nobody had noticed that he had been replaced, that a stranger wearing his face but not his character could waltz in claiming he was Percival Graves, and the world would keep spinning. Percival takes this as a sign of his aloofness with those around him. He thinks about changing, about opening himself up more, but he remembers how painful just that could be.

He makes his way back home on the No-Maj transit. His wand is still under analysis back at MACUSA headquarters, and he doesn't feel stable enough to try Disapparating just yet. Surrounded by No-Majs on the subway platform and awaiting the train, Percival decides to think some more about his case. He has a manila envelope clutched in his other hand, containing all information regarding the past few months, including Grindelwald's situation. Picquery had given it to him, telling him to mull over it and to "stay informed".

Newt Scamander. This magizoologist, co-operating with Tina Goldstein—who, additionally, Grindelwald had kicked off his team—had saved the wizarding community of America by containing the Obscurus long enough for the other Aurors to apprehend Grindelwald. But that's not all: the Obscurial, a boy named Credence Backbone, apparently, was dead. Tina Goldstein had burst into tears at the mention of the name when she had visited Percival. He'd been confused—who is this boy? A powerful one, it must be, as he was definitely over ten years old, having lived that long as an Obscurial. Percival's never seen him, but he supposes he will now, in the envelope.

As Percival nears his door, he places the envelope under his arm, fumbling with the keys to his door and cautiously observing his surroundings, much more than usual. Part of his paranoia stems from his shame of having been found and successfully taken advantage of. _If he'd just been more careful, a lot of lives could be saved…_ Percival felt a hollow feeling in his chest. An emptiness, a sorrow, a regret. No sleeping potion to stop this self-blame from taking over. _An innocent life like Credence Barebone could have been saved…_

While he'd been in the hospital, Aurors had already swept through his house, taking evidence and information, as well as any magical traces left. Percival can tell by the sterilized-clean scent of his home, along with the freakishly ordered pattern in which everything was left. If his memories serve him correctly, the duel had left crumbling walls, broken windows, splintered furniture—and blood, surely. He hangs his coat. Everything is familiar, but not familiar. It's disconcerting.

He forces himself to get up, boil some water. How does he do it without magic?

"No-Majs are truly skilled," Percival mutters under his breath as he struggles with the gas stove. He'd gotten "electricity" wired into his house when he first moved in, but never found a reason to use it. It is a brilliant work-around, though, No-Majs and their electricity. He's impressed, but ends up using hand magic to light it regardless.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, Percival opens the manila envelope. Pages of information are present, but what takes his attention right away is the photograph underneath "Obscurial".

Percival intakes a breath, lifting it up to eye-level. It's a No-Maj photograph, so it's a still of a young man, unmoving. Credence Barebone. The very same young man in Percival's subconscious before being found. The boy's hair is cropped short, but contains the same blackness. His eyes are shaded, downcast, long lashes. For a black-and-white photo, his skin's clearly pale. Still the same fragility of the man in Percival's imagination.

 _Damn_ —Percival is a bit staggered. How did he imagine this man even though he's never seen him before? Actually—wait—no! Tina Goldstein. Percival has indeed seen him before. On Goldstein's desk, a faded photo just like this. That's right—Goldstein had seemingly attacked, unprovoked, the adopted mother, who—if Percival observed right—had been abusing this young man. Percival _tsk_ s under his breath. Of course. A young wizard living in the Salem whatever nonsense house? An Obscurus was bound to occur. Good job, Goldstein.

Still. Percival sighs, looking through the rest of the envelope contents. There's been a lot. Again, thank Merlin for Newt Scamander. And Goldstein. And her sister. And… a No-Maj. Wow, that's pretty startling. Interesting, though—that should change a lot for the wizarding community, at least, he hopes.

The kettle boils and Percival moves it. He rubs his face, tired. A little more sad than tired, and a little more guilty than sad. Tea? He's more of a coffee kind of man. Grindelwald had depleted his coffee stores, though. Tea it is. What else can he do? He's forced to face his thoughts with no work to numb his pain.

* * *

It's been another week or two, and Percival's taken back his wand sometime before. He has learned to cook the No-Maj way, though, and sort of appreciates it, but he appreciates his wand even more. Grocery shopping's a nice relief, though.

Percival has, lately, been spending more time around No-Majs. It's easier, as no one recognises him. No one thinks, " _That's Percival Graves, an Auror who was taken advantage of. Duelled, but defeated. Impersonated and taken many lives."_ Percival made the mistake of being around the wizarding community for a day, and many stares had been directed in his way. He'd hurried home.

"Don't be silly, Graves. No one's thinking that," Goldstein had said when she visited him. He hadn't even voiced this concern, but Goldstein seemed to know. She'd been visiting him often, seeming to just check on him.

Percival appreciates Goldstein, truly. He doesn't mind her visits. It's kind of nice to have some company. He had told his associates to reinstate her back to her position early on. He's been told that Grindelwald, using his face, had sentenced her and Newt Scamander to death, and that's something that, despite not being his fault, he still feels like he owes her for.

Returning home with brown paper bags of groceries, Percival glances at the pile of mail he's received. Obviously, Grindelwald had been only opening the ones that were important.

It's silent in the house as Percival sorts through it. A couple bills, a couple No-Maj advertisements. A grey envelope, slightly dirty, with what looks like the print of an animal who had stepped in coffee and then stepped on the envelope.

 _Newt Scamander_.

Percival's heart beats a little faster. It's on top, so it's been recent.

He opens it with apprehension, unsure of what to expect. A letter tumbles out.

 _Dear Mr. Graves,_

 _Hullo. My name is Newt Scamander. I know we have not properly met, but Tina Goldstein tells me Grindelwald's version of you is not entirely accurate._

Percival pauses at this to breathe a little, slightly comforted.

 _I hope to meet you some day. In fact, I am—I will be coming back from England on the second of January. However, while I'm gone, I must inform you of something. I am aware that everyone, including you and Tina, believes Credence Barebone to be dead. Now, please don't be alarmed._

 _While Grindelwald was being arrested, I witnessed the Obscurus fleeing the scene. STAY SEATED, PLEASE MR. GRAVES. Don't instantly get up and run to Madam President._

Percival, in the middle of reaching for his coat, puts his wand down, wary, reseating himself.

 _I know you have no idea who or what Credence is like. He trusts you—or did trust the Grindelwald version of you, anyway. At this point, he is probably still at large, but in desperate need of help, healing, and a home. He is a troubled boy, Mr. Graves, having experienced many a terror at the hands of his mother and of others. His Obscurus must be separated from him before he can grow into his full potential of a great and strong wizard._

 _I repeat, he is still alive, somewhere in New York, in need of help. He is most likely very injured. I beg of you, Mr. Graves, that you will find him and shield him before I come back. He will recognise you._

 _I have also written to Tina. Hopefully you two will find him. We will all work on separating the Obscurus together. I regret not telling Tina earlier, but then, Credence would be too unstable to reason with._

 _Thank you so much, Mr. Graves. I believe in you, in what Tina has said of you. Thank you for your time._

 _See you soon,_

 _Newt Scamander._

Percival sets the letter down.

Yes, he has heard that part. Apparently Grindelwald had built a relationship of sorts with Credence Barebone, in hopes of finding the Obscurial. He must not have known it was Credence himself. Credence Barebone… Something about Newt Scamander's letter convinces him to find Credence Barebone and do what it says. Maybe it was to prove that he and Grindelwald are not at all similar. Seraphina Picquery does not have to know.

Okay.

Well, where could he be? Perhaps the church that had been demolished by Credence's power? Percival supposes he could start there. He's burning with restlessness at home, anyway.

Almost as if she'd been Summoned, Percival watches Tina Goldstein walk past his window and up the steps to his door. A brief knock, and Percival gets up to allow her in.

"Goldstein," he acknowledges.

Goldstein smiles at him, and looks at Scamander's letter open on his table. She looks back at Percival.

"So?" she asks.

"The broken down church," Percival says quietly.

Goldstein's smile grows wider.


	2. Chapter 2

**One**

 **Chapter 2**

* * *

"You should have seen what his mother did, Graves," says Goldstein. "Belt, whip, everything. It was disgusting. He's so young."

"How old is he?" asks Percival, stepping through the rubble.

It's a dim day, heavy clouds draping around the two figures. The hum of passersby with their feet thumping against the cobblestone thrums in the air. The destroyed church lay on the street corner, having not been cleaned up yet and put under "caution" for potential further gas leaks. The bricks spill out onto the street, but mostly everyone walks around it. Part of the roof remains, with the torn draperies hanging off the wall.

"Twenty-one," answers Goldstein. She lifts a belt in the ruins, darkened in some areas with what Percival was horrified to identify as most likely blood. At twenty-one… "What his mother used to hurt him and the other children, I think." There's pure sadness in her voice.

"Credence," she calls.

Percival glances around. It feels as empty and as deserted as it looks.

Goldstein tries again, walking a little further in. Percival turns the other way to look around the building as Goldstein continues calling his name. He sees the alleyway in between the church and another building. He's drawn to it—it's quiet, still and relatively untouched. If Percival was a young man and wanted to hide away but not far from what he only knows… this alleyway might work.

Unsure regardless, Percival hovers near the entrance of the alleyway.

"Credence," he ventures, after clearing his throat.

Nothing.

Percival turns to continue searching through the rubble. Where can he be?

A whoosh.

Percival's hand flies to his waist where his wand is held. He whips around, sensing a presence.

"Credence," he says again, more of a question. Nothing, again, but—he squints. In the very end of the alleyway, a shadow. A clump of shadows, actually.

"Goldstein," Percival calls, raising his voice. The cluster of shadows shrinks at the sound of his voice. Behind him, Goldstein stumbles out, tripping on a brick.

"Credence!" Goldstein exclaims, eyes on the darkness at the end of the alleyway. "Credence, please. Are you okay? We're here to help you."

"Credence," Percival echoes, a little afraid he would scare him away.

The shadows, always moving, looking like smoke, seems to grow, then shrink—then take the form of something. A body.

"Credence," Goldstein says again, and she sounds like she's about to cry. "Credence, let me help you. Please."

The shadows lift completely, revealing a huddled young man. A huddled Credence Barebone.

His clothes are torn, dried blood soaking through. It must have been all the attacks cast by the Aurors. He's bone-thin, not having enough to eat—he must have been on his own for all this time, living off scraps. His black hair has grown out, curly and long. Percival aches; it's a pitiful sight and he wishes he could take back what had happened to this innocent man.

Goldstein tentatively approaches, putting away her wand and keeping her hands open. Percival is a few steps behind.

"Miss… Miss Goldstein," Credence whispers weakly.

"Yes, I'm here," Goldstein responds. "I'm Tina, okay, honey? Look, it's me… Tina. I'm here to help you. This time, your mother can't hurt you again, okay?"

Credence's eyes are brimming with tears. "My mother…" he mumbles, shivering. Tina places a hand over his head.

"Sick, injured, starved, thirsty… Oh, Credence," sighs Goldstein.

"He can stay at my place," volunteers Percival.

At his voice, tears start flowing out of Credence, and he wails, pressing his face into Tina's lapel. Percival is a little shocked.

"It's okay," Goldstein reassures. "I'm going to take you, okay? I'll take you. Graves—your place."

Credence nods among his tears, and Goldstein takes his arm before Disapparating, with Percival following suit.

They appear outside Percival's home, where he quickly lowers the defenses and throws open the door, allowing the way for Goldstein to carry Credence in. He shuts the door after, and with a wave of his wand the living room sofa rotates to face them. He helps Goldstein lay Credence gently on the sofa. In an instant, the two are casting spells to heal the boy. Streaks of few week-old curses line the skin that's exposed through his ripped and dirty clothing. Credence seems to be vaguely aware of what is happening to him, but not completely.

Percival Summons magical fever medicine from his cupboard— _Madam Pothe's Anti-Inflammatory Syrup—_ and a cup of water. Goldstein lights the fireplace with her wand and shuts the curtains against any curious wizarding passersby.

In the new warmth and whispered soothing words from Goldstein, Credence willingly takes the medicine, and drinks some water. He looks hazily at Goldstein and Percival, gaze lingering on Percival a little longer, before he falls asleep.

"Probably the first time he's slept properly in ages," Goldstein says quietly as Percival lowers a blanket onto his thin frame.

Percival nods before turning to Goldstein. "What did Grindelwald do to him?" he asks.

"I'm not totally sure. I just know that he did trust you—or, well, Grindelwald's impersonation of you. I guess we'll see in Grindelwald's trial. If we do make MACUSA aware of his presence, Credence will probably be a key witness. Poor boy."

"We need to separate his Obscurus first," Percival says definitively. "Before we bring him to MACUSA."

Goldstein hums in assent. "Yes. Newt can—but he's not entirely sure. He's told me he separated the Obscurus from a girl in Sudan, but she died."

Percival returns his attention to the sleeping boy. "Would he?"

"No," says Goldstein, but there isn't much confidence in her voice. "He can't… He's so strong. He's lived so long as an Obscurial."

"We'll have to explain to him everything. But—I don't think I can get him to trust me," Percival remarks. "Grindelwald definitely broke his trust, that's for sure."

Goldstein smiles. "I think that's why Newt told me to put him here in your house. It would make more sense for Queenie and I to take care of him, but… there must be a reason."

Percival turns to her in shock. Scamander wants Credence under his care? Well, he had volunteered his house, but hadn't expected Goldstein to be entirely okay with it. Then again, he would be home a longer period of time, while Goldstein and her sister leave for work. That's right, he would be able to take care of him. Maybe that's why Scamander wants him to take care of Credence.

"I will, I'll take care of him. Mr. Scamander will come back," Percival decides. It seems to be one of the only things he can do, just to redeem himself. Redeem his failing to protect against Grindelwald. He scoops the sleeping Credence, who doesn't wake, and easily carries his alarmingly light weight upstairs to the guest room.

* * *

Screams, sobs. Percival bursts into the guest room door, alert, wand hand ready.

In the moonlight, Credence is writhing, a cold sweat on his skin, soaking through Percival's old clothes that he had put on him earlier.

"No—please—don't hurt me—I didn't do anything wrong—"

It's heartbreaking, because Percival is sure Credence is having a nightmare about his adopted mother. He puts a hand on Credence's shoulder, trying to shake him awake.

At his touch, Credence's eyes open, and he gasps, almost as if he's inhaling for air. He focuses on Percival for a second, recognising who he is, and crumples into his sheets.

"Mister—mister Graves," Credence says meekly, unable to make eye contact.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," soothes Percival. "Call me Percival. Percival."

"I'm sorry I attacked you, Mister Graves. I was angry. I—I didn't… I didn't like what … you said…" Credence seems unable to get his words out. He's shaking, almost as if it's taking all of his courage to voice his sadness. "Please… Don't hurt me…"

Percival is stunned. Grindelwald must have hurt him, and maybe it's Grindelwald in his dreams. Just like his mother. Anger at the dark wizard curls up in his heart, but compassion for Credence overtakes it. He sits down beside Credence on the bed, who seems to be even more terrified, unable to even look up.

"Wait—call me Percival, okay? Look, I have to tell you a few things." Credence's eyes flicker towards Percival at the calm, gentle tone of his voice.

Percival softly grasps Credence's wrist, in a hope that the touch will soothe him. Credence's eyes are wide and staring at his hands.

"Look, Credence, you probably do not know, but…" Percival rolls up his sleeve, where the marks left by Grindelwald still remain, dark red and immutable. "The Percival Graves that was communicating with you all this time is not me. There is an evil man, a man named Gellert Grindelwald, who has been impersonating me—"

Credence's head snaps up, a look of shock.

"Mister Graves—you—"

"Yes, I am Mister Graves—no, wait, call me Percival. He attacked me five months ago. Almost six now. He made me unconscious, gave me tons of scars like this, and broke my arms and legs, and, well, you've not heard it before, but there's a potion that makes him look like me. And I promise I'm not him, I promise the man that you knew is not the man I am, and—"

Tears are filling up Credence's eyes, and they glimmer in the moonlight. Percival's heart rate rises, and he blames it on the fact he's afraid Credence would burst into the Obscurus form again. Something in his heart keeps him blabbering about his situation. It's a sort of desperation, a terror and a frenziedness to prove that he is not the same as Grindelwald. That he is his own person, that he _can't be like Grindelwald, that he wouldn't hurt this boy—_

"—and I want to help you, I really do. It's like—it's like I'm meeting you for the first time, and I'm sorry that it had to be like this." For some reason, Percival's eyes are stinging with tears also.

Credence's lip quivers and he looks down. In the silence, he curls his fists. Percival watches him, heart hammering. He's entirely at the mercy of the Obscurus—his wand's in his back pocket.

"You mean—to say… the Mister Graves I know is not you? You are the real Mister Graves? I have not known the real Mister Graves all this time?" His voice cracks.

"Yes," whispers Percival. "My name is Percival Graves. Please, call me Percival." He hesitates, and lifts his hand to touch his cheek. It seems like the right thing to do. Instead, Credence jerks away.

"I'm—I'm sorry," gasps Percival, taking away his hand instantly. A wave of black smoke-like wisps blow through the room.

"The old Mister Graves did that," Credence says quietly.

"I won't—I won't touch you, I'm sorry," Percival instantly replies, and scoots further away on the bed. This man—this man, Grindelwald, abusing such a simple gesture? Were they this similar? Percival feels defeated, feels violated. His actions are not his own anymore.

Credence looks up despite this, and clutches on to Percival's wrist. "No—but you're… you're not the old one. You're the real one, right?"

Percival nods silently. He moves back, a little closer. Credence sets his jaw, trying not to flinch.

"My name is Percival," he repeats. "What's yours?" He knows, but he wants it to feel like they're really meeting for the first time.

"Credence Barebone," Credence answers, after a pause. It's barely audible, just below a whisper.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Credence," Percival says, voice level matching his. He gently encircles Credence's wrist, holding on: a firm, strong presence. "I hope we get to know each other, properly."

Credence swallows, nods, and his eyes continue to shyly look up at his before returning to his lap.


	3. Chapter 3

**One**

 **Chapter 3**

* * *

In the morning, Percival wakes early. He gets dressed with haste and checks on Credence, who's asleep still. Waving his wand, a fresh set of his own clothes arrange and fold themselves in neat stack on the corner of the bed, as well as a toothbrush and some toothpaste on top. Percival makes a note to himself that he'll have to get the boy fitted for some clothes.

He sets to work to make a light breakfast. A cup of water, some oatmeal. Some diced fruits. Brown sugar. A warm slice of bread. They float and arrange themselves on a tray which follows him upstairs. He hears movement in the room and knocks gently.

Immediately the door opens, and Credence is in clothes that are too big for him. Percival's heart skitters at the sight of his own clothing draped around Credence's slight frame. He's tall but thin where Percival's body has more muscle and width.

Clearing his throat, Percival smiles and says softly, "Good morning, Credence. I made you some breakfast."

Credence flushes and looks down, stuttering a thank you. He quickly looks up, though, once he's caught sight of the floating tray behind him—his eyes are wide, astonished.

"Oh—yes—it's magic, I suppose I have a lot to tell you," Percival says, a laugh in his voice. Credence nods. He gestures at his own body.

"I've—I've seen some before. The old Mister Graves—" Credence's quiet voice stops when he notices Percival looking a little pained. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry… I… Grindel… Grindelwald?"

"Oh, oh it's okay, Credence. Ah—yes, Grindelwald is his name." Percival feels sheepish. How did Credence notice right away that he disliked the term "old Mister Graves"? Besides, who's the one who needs healing right now?

"Grindelwald healed my cuts before. The ones Ma gave me. That's magic. And… you just healed my cuts too. As well as Miss Goldstein. Tina. My fever's gone, too."

Percival nods. "Yes, we were healing you. Magic can be a wonderful thing. You have much," he says, to which Credence instantly looks down. Shame seems to fill his expression.

"I killed a lot of people," Credence whispers. "I didn't want to… I just… I lost control."

Percival takes Credence's wrist again in an understanding, compassionate way. "Grindelwald killed many, too. With my face. I feel like I lost control, too."

Credence looks up.

"It's not the best feeling. But, know that we are not to blame—Grindelwald is, understand?" Percival gazes intently into Credence's dark eyes. "I know it's hard to believe that. It's so hard for me to believe too."

"Yes, it is," Credence agrees softly, and his eyes fill with tears again. Percival is a bit taken by his lashes. He raises his hand again to touch his cheek, and this time, Credence allows him, before he suddenly leans forward into Percival's chest. Surprised, Percival's arms surround him quickly, and leans his head down, allowing Credence to rest his head against his neck.

They stand there, hugging, for a few minutes. Percival can feel Credence's lungs heave and he knows that he is silently crying into his shoulder. He stops after awhile, and remains there, face buried into the crook of Percival's shoulder. Percival doesn't move, not wanting to break this trust that Credence has placed on him. On the "real" Mister Graves. Percival's own heart aches a little. The " _real_ Mister Graves". My Merlin, what exactly did Grindelwald do?

Credence finally steps away, eyes red and nose running a little. He swallows and says, "Thank you for understanding." Percival drops his arms, suddenly aware of the absence of Credence's warmth. He finds himself wishing that he could hug Credence a little longer.

"Anytime, Credence. Breakfast, still?" he asks, smiling. The tray floats past the doorway, and the teapot rattles as if a little indignant at being ignored. They sit down together on the bed, eating from the tray. The sun filters in through the partly open patterned curtains, bathing the room in a warm light.

"You know, Credence, I have a kitchen table," laughs Percival. "Tomorrow morning, come join me downstairs. We'll have a proper breakfast together."

Credence nods his thanks and has a ghost of a smile on his face as he finishes his glass of water.

"Mister Graves, I have a question—"

"Please, Credence. Call me Percival."

"Um, Mister Percival, I have a question."

Percival chuckles. "You can drop the 'mister' too, Credence. I'm your friend, not your teacher."

At this, Credence looks like he's had a dream dashed as he looks back to his empty glass, quickly. Percival's worried. What did he say?

"Credence—I'm sorry, what happened? I didn't mean to offend you." Percival's sincerely apologetic tone seems to successfully coax Credence to raise his gaze, up through his longer hair.

"I—I wanted to ask if you could…well, Grindelwald said he could… if you could teach me… I mean… If I can learn…"

"Oh—yes, of course!" Percival exclaims. Credence jumps a little and Percival quickly lowers his voice. "Yes, of course I would love to. I would love to teach you how to use magic—and I don't know what Grindelwald's talking about. You have such amazing power."

A look of hope dawns on Credence's face.

Percival smiles in response. Then he realises what this means. "Oh, Credence… This is going to be hard, though. It will be difficult to acquire for you a wand. It'll be difficult for you to get out of my house at all, really. I suppose you know that no one knows you're alive?"

Credence looks a bit sadder, but not much so. "It's … it's okay, no one really cares…"

Percival shakes his head. "Oh, no, Credence. I care a lot… but it's just that—if MACUSA—which, by the way is the wizarding government here, knows you are alive, they may see you as a threat, and they will want to study you and use you as witness in Grindelwald's trial." He pauses, to allow it to sink in. Credence is watching him now, and Percival feels a sense of admiration for the boy's resilience and sharpness. "Do you remember Newt Scamander?"

Credence nods. "A nice man," he says quietly.

"Yes—a nice man—he may be able to separate the Obscurus from you. The MACUSA will see you as less a threat, too."

"Obscurus?" Credence stumbles a little over the pronunciation. Percival has to fight back a feeling of fondness.

"Yes, Obscurus. The force that happens when… you lose control." He falters a little, carefully gauging Credence's reaction.

Credence, to his surprise, seems to understand, and more so, accept it. He looks like he's gained some courage, which warms Percival's heart. "How do we do it?"

"Well—" Percival thinks. "Mr. Scamander's coming soon. Second of January. Today's December tenth. He'll know."

Credence, drinking in Percival's words like water, looks a little more hopeful. "Then—I'll be normal? I'll be okay?"

Percival takes Credence's wrist once again. "Credence… You're already normal. You're one of us."

Credence looks gratified, and smiles—Percival's breath hitches. He is… yes, pretty.

For the rest of the day, Percival makes food and digs up his old textbooks from Ilvermorny days. Credence attempts a couple times to wash the dishes or assist in cooking, but Percival refuses, getting him to lie down instead. Credence does sleep more, seeming to regain all the sleep he's been missing his entire life. Percival watches him sleep on the living room couch, and the effect it has is almost magical. Colour seems to be returning to his cheeks. It's nice to have someone in the house, even when the person was just sleeping. Percival feels a little more hopeful, too.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door. Percival turns around, suddenly very aware of Credence's presence. If it was someone from the wizarding community—

"It's Tina! Goldstein!"

Still wary, Percival raises his voice, saying, "In a minute!"

Credence wakes at the sound of their voices, fear in his expression before he remembers where he is. Percival, with great speed, lifts Credence's thin frame from the couch once again. Credence is surprised, holding on to Percival's neck, and seems embarrassed at their proximity as his nose brushes the side of Percival's cheek.

"Sorry—it was my fault, I should have been more careful," Percival says as he Apparates upstairs, and settles Credence down onto the guest bed, where the young man is still breathing heavily from the squeezing sensation of Apparition.

Percival Apparates downstairs again and opens the door, wand at the ready. He is taking no chances again with intruders in his house.

It is indeed Tina Goldstein, but Percival does a quick _Revelio_ charm just in case. Goldstein doesn't mind and enters after his approval.

"How's Credence?" are her first words to him.

"Good," Percival says in response. "I had to Apparate him upstairs just in case you weren't Goldst—Tina. Can I just call you Tina now? You can call me Percival."

Goldstein blushes at this, and seems to be proud that her supervisor wanted to be on first-name basis with her. "Yes, of course. Percival." Percival smiles. He's looking forward to their friendship.

They walk upstairs together, and see Credence sitting on the edge of the bed. Tina holds up some bags she had carried in. "I went shopping. I actually know your measurements, Credence—well, I sort of cheated and looked at your old clothes."

Credence flushes. "Oh—Miss Goldstein—Tina—thank you so much, you didn't have to…"

"I did," Tina says affirmatively, and takes out the clothes one by one. A few long-sleeved cotton shirts, a vest, a pair of trousers, some socks. A pair of dark shoes are in another bag.

"Thank you," Percival says. "I wasn't sure how to get his clothing without him going outside."

Tina nods, eyebrows wrinkling. "We're gonna have to find a way for him to be able to walk around outside. Maybe disguise him. MACUSA still does not think anything of Credence being alive."

Percival shrugs, and settles his hands on his hips. "We're just awaiting Scamander's arrival."

"Right," agrees Tina, and looks fondly at Credence, who is still eyeing in wonder at his new clothes.

"I've always had older clothes. These are brand new," murmurs Credence.

Tina and Percival both smile. "I'm glad you like them," Tina says. "We'll get you a wand soon. I've got to get back home, now. Queenie wants me to try some pastries—and, can you believe it, she found Jacob Kowalski's bakery. I'll have to make sure that she doesn't do anything to expose herself!"

Percival laughs a little. Jacob Kowalski. This No-Maj, he's read about. Seems like an honest man. He claps Tina on the shoulder. "Thank you, Tina."

"No, thank you," Tina insists. "Newt knows what he's talking about. He's known things like these all the time. You are perfect for Credence. His healing, I mean."

Percival feels his face warm a little as he walks Tina down the stairs back to the door. "You and Newt…" Percival starts.

Tina blushes right away. "Oh, it's just that Newt is really good with the feelings of other people. He's very empathetic… from what I've observed."

Percival knows right away she's smitten with the man, but doesn't say anything. "See you soon, Tina."

After she leaves, Credence comes downstairs, changed in clothes that actually fit him. Percival notices that, despite how, well, _cute_ he looked in clothes too big for him, the shirts and pants that tuck into the right places on Credence are fitting quite good as well.

"You, uh, you look dapper," Percival says, clearing his throat.

"Oh—thank you," Credence answers, cheeks red.

Percival smiles, and gestures to the kitchen. "Time for dinner."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: My oh my! I really love writing about Credence and original Percival. And Ezra Miller OOOH mannn. Credence is just the most lovable character ever, I can't contain my love for him (and Ezra) in anything. Anyway, hope you all continue liking the story, please feel free to leave any review/critique!**

* * *

 **One**

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

Credence loves reading, Percival finds. He speeds through the books in his shelves, occasionally stopping to meekly ask him the meaning of a few words. He also takes to the spellbooks, too. Fortunately, Percival has found all textbooks, including the spellbooks from level one to level five. Credence especially likes _The History of Magic_ , in which he finds the concept of the existence of goblins and dragons especially fascinating.

"Will we ever be able to—well, see any of them?" asks Credence one day. It's the nineteenth of December, and the day Newt Scamander's coming back is close. The anticipation fills the house, Percival included. He wants to show Credence everything, he wants to share his world with him, and it scares him a little at what it means. Each time Credence speaks, his speech is getting less timid and more to the braver end; Percival is overflowingly full of pride of this.

"Yes, of course. Well—dragons are going to be a little hard to see around here, but goblins, oh, once we get you out and free there's lots, existing among us," explains Percival. Credence looks as if he's in wonder, and Percival's heart is in his throat right away.

Credence returns to reading, and Percival has to sit down. He knows he has to acknowledge this side of his feelings, but how can he? Credence is under his _care_. Vulnerable. It would seem that he's taking advantage of the boy, and, well, how possibly might Credence see him in that way? He couldn't possibly like Percival in that manner as well… Firstly, he's about fifteen years older, and, more importantly, he must remind the boy too much of Grindelwald's treatment. It hurts Percival, plaguing him with a phantom guilt: knowing that his body was used to create fear in Credence. At times, when Percival makes sudden movements, Credence still flinches.

Is he the same? If he has these feelings for Credence, is he subconsciously manipulating the boy? Is he no different from Grindelwald?

Percival rubs his eyes, a little weary.

"Percival?"

"Ah, yes," replies Percival, quickly looking at Credence. He looks concerned, but shyly so.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," Percival answers, smiling. Credence smiles back, eyes flickering to meet his through his long, now-curly hair—causing Percival's stomach to flip—before returning to _The History of Magic_.

* * *

Another dream. Black smoke, hands, reaching for his throat.

A flash of light, a curse, and Grindelwald's voice cackles in his ear.

He dreams of the Aurors turning their wands on him. In his mind's eyes they all are fixated on him, with blank yet aggressive stares that turn Percival's blood cold. " _You are Grindelwald_ ," they all hiss, a collective voice. Tina Goldstein is at the front, anger brewing on her face. " _How could you? He's just a boy!"_

"No," Percival tries to shout, but his mouth is making no noise even though it's forming the words. "No, I didn't—"

Credence is at his feet. Credence, lying spread-eagled, eyes wide and dark, looking upwards but not seeing. Blood gathers around him, and he is dead. Percival is so horrified, so agonized. He drops to the boy's side, and sees blood smeared on his own hands.

"No, please, no," he repeats over and over again, stroking Credence's cold face, trying to believe it's a Boggart, willing him alive—

He's shaken awake. "Percival—Percival, please, Mister Graves—Percival—"

"Credence," Percival gasps, panting for air. Credence is at his side, grasping Percival's arms.

"I'm sorry for waking you," he says quickly, looking sheepish, then looks back up at him, a sad expression on his face. "You were screaming, and … I know how that feels…"

Percival suddenly realises his face is covered with tears, and every inch of his skin is covered in a cold sweat.

"Credence," Percival says again, voice hoarse, full of relief that Credence is here and alive. The young man reaches shyly for his wrist, as Percival has done for him many times. Percival draws Credence into his arms. The stubble on his face brushes Credence's cheek and he instantly shivers in Percival's embrace, but Percival only vaguely notices it.

Muffled by Percival's neck, Credence says, "What were you dreaming about, Percival?"

"A nightmare," mutters Percival. "I dreamt I was Grindelwald, and I killed you. I thought I lost you."

Credence doesn't move, but only stays in his arms.

"I thought I lost you," says Percival again, a little softer this time, and shudders at the thought.

"You're not Grindelwald," Credence says quietly.

Percival breaks away to wipe his face, touched by what he's said. "Thank you. I'm sorry you had to see me like this." He encircles Credence's wrist, like he has done before.

"Modesty… my little sister, she dreamt this too, sometimes, that I wasn't there. I would stay with her," says Credence. He looks at Percival, and Percival sees compassion, compassion that has survived the worst of humanity. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

Percival takes a deep breath. He admires Credence in the dim moonlight. He's beautiful. He's kind. "Yes."

Credence seems surprised and if Percival sees correctly in the dimness of the room, it's almost like he's blushing. Percival gets up and finds another pillow in the closet before placing it next to his, a polite distance in between their pillows. He settles into the right side of the bed, and Credence on the other. The blanket covers them both, and Credence tentatively takes Percival's wrist, holding on. Percival observes Credence's face again; the young man's eyes flutter closed and he is breathing, deeply and soundly.

It's nothing but innocence on his face—he is pure and beautiful, and Percival admires some more, falling asleep with the sight of Credence's face imprinted into his mind. He has the most peaceful sleep in awhile, uninterrupted by any dream.

He wakes when the sun peeks in through the drawn curtains, and he faintly realises Credence's back is pressed up against his body. Credence's nose is pressed into Percival's bicep. His arm is draped, protectively, around Credence. Their legs are entangled. The blanket lay forlorn on the side of the bed, simply because Percival and Credence, together, are warm enough.

Quickly, Percival untangles himself and withdraws to cool the pooling heat in his stomach. He can't… He replaces the blanket over Credence's body. He gets changed and leaves to make breakfast.

* * *

" _Reparo_."

The dish pieces itself back together before floating back to its position on the counter.

Credence is shaking, unable to look at Percival's eyes. His hand is bleeding, blood dripping onto the floor where the broken dish has just been; he must have tried to pick up the broken pieces.

Percival quickly passes his hand over Credence's, mouthing incantations.

"I'm… I'm so sorry, Percival…"

Percival goes to touch his wrist, but pulls back. "It's okay, Credence. I forgive you. Don't be sorry, it just slipped…"

"Ma usually beats me if I break anything…"

Percival shakes his head. "That should not happen. It was an accident. Besides, that's what we've got the mending charm for."

Credence watches Percival's wand for a while.

"Could you… teach that to me?"

"Of course," says Percival. He hands his wand to Credence, to which Credence is shocked. "Oh—oh, with your wand? I couldn't—"

"Well, how else can I teach it to you?" Percival says, smiling. He presses the wand into Credence's hand. "Okay, I'll break this dish, hold on—oops, oh dear, there's a dish here? Oh no!" He sarcastically elbows the dish and it falls back down, cracking in half with a loud noise.

Credence smiles a little, before taking a determined look on his face and takes the wand in his hand.

"So, it's ' _Reparo'_ ," instructs Percival.

Credence sounds the word out first. " _Reparo_ ," he repeats.

Percival grunts an affirmative, and gestures at the dish. "It's a bit of a hand movement."

" _Reparo,_ " Credence says, lifting his hand. The dish remains still. He tries again with more strength in his voice. Percival inhales quickly—it's almost like his senses are strangely tingling. He can feel the magic, _the power_ , buzzing in the air between them, in Credence's hand.

" _Reparo_." Percival's eyes widen at the dish moving back together.

"Wow," Percival gets out, amazed at the speed at which Credence is learning, and watches Credence's face beam with pure joy. "Wow," Percival says again, a second time, to his embarrassment: to the beauty of the man in front of him. Fortunately, Credence seems to think he's just talking about the charm, and mumbles a thank you.

"You're really fast at this mending charm," Percival marvels.

"You teach really well," Credence answers quietly, and hands back Percival's wand to him. "I want to… fix things."

Percival watches him for a bit. "Fix…"

"I wish I could fix everything. I wish..."

Percival suddenly understands and touches Credence's cheek. "I wish, too. But… some things don't need a _reparo_. There are different ways to fix things."

Credence looks up at him, a torn look on his face. "Can we fix—can we fix whatever I did? Two nights ago?"

Percival looks at him, now confused, feeling a little nervous.

"I… After I stayed with you that night, you haven't been talking to me as often. I'm sorry for whatever I did."

Percival's heart breaks, a little. So Credence _did_ notice. All he's tried to do is draw away just a minute amount. "No, _no,_ Credence. I don't… It's not anything you did. It's me."

Credence has a sad expression on his face. "What can I do?"

Percival gazes at him, upset. _I'd live somewhere else if I had to. I can't_ …

"I… I want to help. I want to make you happy," mumbles Credence. Percival can see his long lashes and his heart flutters. "If there's a, cheering-up charm or something…"

"There actually is," Percival says, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

"I—I also don't think you're like Grindelwald at all," adds Credence. His voice is mellow, quiet, and begins to stabilize. "I've seen him with your face, but that's a fake Mister Graves compared to you. A fake, shallow version. You have kindness in your eyes. You want to help me. Genuinely. You are not the same, and I can see now, the clear difference."

What feels like a weight is lifted off of Percival's chest. Truly, he can't be the same as Grindelwald. He can't, if Credence himself says so.

Credence looks up, through the just-long-enough fringe of his hair, and Percival realises how close their faces are. The young man's eyes flicker to his, then to Percival's lips for a moment. Percival catches this and suddenly understands that Credence is drawing close, but the boy himself not understanding what he is drawing close for.

"Can I kiss you?" Percival breathes out, without thinking, and it's almost like his brain's been switched off—only his heart is making the decisions. He's always asked before kissing someone—gentlemen's courtesy.

Credence leans in affirmatively at his request. He clearly has not done this before, but Percival takes the lead, easily. He takes Credence's wrist with one hand, finally interlocking his fingers with his, and his other hand caresses the side of Credence's face.

Never mind this is another male. Percival's sure the wizarding community will understand. It is Credence's soul that Percival has fallen in love with.

Percival's heart has never beat this fast before. He remembers his Ilvermorny days when he had his first kiss, to a sixth-year girl when he was in seventh. It was nothing like this. And… then he remembers his Auror training, where there was another man that he had eyed for days, before the two finally did meet in the empty hallways of the Auror school. Again, nothing like this.

Credence's bottom lip catches on Percival's teeth and Percival has to restrain himself from pinning him against the wall. The heat is absolutely magnified now, and he is acutely aware of the ache in his groin. He imagines placing his hands on Percival's face, on his waist. On the small of his back. On his hips… and he suddenly realises that Credence would probably allow him to do whatever he wants.

 _Whatever you want_ , _Credence won't object_.

 _He's just a boy…_

Percival breaks away suddenly, and Credence stumbles forward, eyes half-lidded and lips red and swollen. The sight drops Percival's stomach into the depths below.

Credence's face turns red almost instantly and he looks down, unable to make eye contact. "I'm sorry, Percival, I'm so sorry—"

"No, no, wait," Percival says, quite flushed and hot himself, and holds a crimson Credence at arm's length. "I—This is wrong."

Credence looks up sharply, a hurt expression on his face. Percival realises with a jolt that Credence, with his background, might misinterpret this.

It's almost like he's shrinking away. "Wrong… I know, I'm so wrong…" There is a guilt and agony bubbling in his eyes now, and Percival registers that wisps of dark magic are starting to pool around them, licking up the walls, reaching for the ceiling. The Obscurus.

A fear rises in Percival—to be face to face with such dark, massive power.

"Credence," Percival whispers, and holds onto Credence's bony wrist. He is so much like porcelain. The smoke-like matter is making its way down Credence's arm, where it stops at Percival's hand. Percival strokes the inside of his wrist, soothingly. The more Percival strokes his wrist, the more he wants to reach out to Credence, past this Obscurus. The smoke gathers around Credence's face, but seems a little thinner.

"Nothing is wrong with you," he continues, and lifts up Credence's hand before softly pressing his lips to it. The smoke veiling his face moves, curling down the sides of his body, revealing Credence's distressed features. "Credence, I care for you. I believe in you. That's why I don't want to take advantage of you. I want you to make your own decisions."

Credence's eyes focus on him.

"You are Credence Barebone. You are a young man who is your own person. You belong to no one."

"You're not taking advantage… I want to belong to someone." Credence's voice is trembling, and he halts his speech. There's an implied silence after his sentence, and Percival can feel it, feel and _know_ what Credence wants to say. _I want to belong to you._

Percival can see it, can see that Credence is close to overpowering the Obscurus. He abruptly understands: belonging to someone is what calms the boy. Permanency, strength, stability. Something to hold on to, to trust. Percival can provide that. His heart _yearns_ to be that for him.

"You belong to me," Percival says kindly, after a beat, and places his lips once again to the inside of Credence's wrist. "I'm here for you."

Credence's eyes widen a little more, watching Percival's mouth, before returning to meet Percival's gaze. Percival sees a sort of reassured relief in his eyes and completely ignores the black smoke fading away into nothingness as Credence crashes back against him, face against his neck.

"Percival," Credence says, quiet voice reverberating in the shell of Percival's ear, which causes the man to shiver a little bit. "Do you promise?"

"Yes, I promise," Percival says immediately, arms around him. He thinks of all the broken promises that must have occurred in this young man's life. All the hopes, all the dreams of him, before they were dashed in his home by the people that were supposed to be his family. He's going to do it—he's going to provide everything he can for Credence, for this youth to get his life back. Credence wants him to.

Percival forgets to breathe when he feels Credence hesitantly touch the underside of Percival's jaw, just by his stubble, with his mouth.

"Credence," Percival says, but it's more of a hoarse growl than his regular voice. Credence, surprisingly does not jerk away, but instead continues with his kissing of Percival's skin, and in fact applies a little more pressure. His bony fingers twist into Percival's cotton undershirt, and Percival feels as if he's on fire.

"Credence—"

A knock on the door.

The two break apart, and Percival curses underneath his breath. Credence sways a little bit, upright but leaned against the wall, streaks of beet red colour on his cheeks, especially stark against his normally pale skin; he has an embarrassed look on his face. Percival is mildly amused by this before guiding him to sit in the kitchen, out of view from the front door. He quickly casts a Disillusionment Charm over Credence, hiding him.

Opening the door, Percival finds Tina, and, surprisingly, Queenie Goldstein. After the customary _Revelio_ , Tina watches Percival for a moment. "Tina, Miss Goldstein," Percival says in hello.

"Queenie," Queenie says in response, smiling a wide, pearly smile.

"Well," Tina says, a bit awkwardly. "It's a bit hot in here, isn't it?" Queenie giggles from behind her.

 _Leglimens,_ Percival remembers. Oh Merlin. He's trained in Occlumency, but Credence is not…

"Uh, yes," Percival agrees, coughing on purpose as he lowers the charm over Credence. He knows she's saying this to excuse the heat rising in the form of colour on his face. Tina does a miniature eye-roll, just enough for Percival to catch, and Queenie only breaks out in laughter.

At the sight of a new, unfamiliar person, Credence curiously looks at Queenie, eyes glancing up to the blonde woman every other moment.

"Hi honey," Queenie exclaims, voice filling the room with her New York drawl. "My name's Queenie. It's nice to meet you. I've heard some 'bout you, darling."

Credence's eyes follow her kind, melodic voice to her face. "Hello," he says softly. "I'm—I'm Credence."

"Queenie can read minds," Tina says to Credence in a matter-of-fact, friendly manner. Credence is surprised, and blushes some more.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything," Queenie sing-songs, and twirls over to Credence's side, conjuring a pastry out of thin air. "Pastry, sweetheart?"

Percival, of course, has no idea what Queenie's mentioning, but he thinks it's sweet that they're having a private conversation as Queenie giggles again and the corners of Credence's mouth twitch upward.

"How can I help you?" he asks, turning to Tina, while clearing his throat again. In the back of his mind, Credence's lips are still there, but he vigorously recites paragraphs of the MACUSA Constitution and Charter of Magical Rights to calm the heat in his pants.

"Well… I've found a way to get Credence a wand," says Tina, grinning widely. Her short hair bobs as she reaches into her coat pocket for a business card. "Thiago Quintana. He's travelling and will be by New York, but lives and sets up shop down south, near the Mexico border."

Percival's brow furrows a little. "How do you know he'll be quiet?" Thiago Quintana is a wandmaker he knows little about, only that MACUSA—and him being the Department Head of Magical Security—has a curious eye on him.

Behind them, Queenie laughs a little and flicks Credence's hair fringe. "No, you silly boy. I'll give your hair a cut one of these days." Percival peeks back and is momentarily distracted by the wondrous, _beautiful_ chuckle escaping the seated young man nibbling on a pastry.

" _Because_ ," Tina intones, and waves her hand almost tiredly to get Percival's attention. "Quintana really has an obsession for over-the-law activities. The man got super excited to hear about our speakeasies. You can probably tell how he reacted to me sharing we have a hidden soon-not-to-be Obscurial here in need of a wand. He says he brought almost all his stores here with him; I imagine he's trying to bother Johannes Jonker's business."

Percival resists a smile. Tina is very cutely passionate about Quintana's side-activities, legal or not. "I imagine you wouldn't mind, after housing Credence for this long," she adds as an afterthought, hiding her grin behind a hand.

Queenie breaks out in peals of laughter all of a sudden. "Yes, honey, you'll get to make pastries too with a wand!"

As one of the rare times in his life so far, Percival hears Credence laugh too. A laugh that's just learning how to be used. A laugh that sounds like a newborn fawn testing out stilted limbs. A laugh that has so much potential for happiness. He turns to see Credence with a look of hope on his face. He's been listening and has definitely heard them just say that a wand is within reach.

Feeling quite light and pleasantly content, Percival asks, "When's he arriving? We'll get Credence a wand right away. I'll clear it up when I get back to work."

Tina smiles even wider. "I didn't get to that part yet. _Now_ , actually."

Percival is a bit surprised. "Now? In this house?"

"Well, we could go to our apartment, if you prefer," suggests Queenie from behind, and offers her hand to Credence. "I have much to show you! We can Apparate—no one will see you."

Dubious, Percival looks at the two of them, but Queenie reassuringly beams, her pearly whites flashing. Credence, still seated in the chair, clutches on to the spellbook on the table, a breath-taking (to Percival) smile on his features.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: This is a long one! I think I'm seeing maybe around 3 or 4 more chapters for this story. :) Lots of fluffff! For the record, I don't know what Percival's house would be in. I would like to think either Pukwudgie or Thunderbird.**

* * *

 **One**

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

"Well, let's have a look-see at what we have here!"

Percival watches Thiago Quintana, in a circle, dance around Credence, who's standing on a makeshift pedestal (Tina's bathroom stool). Percival's fingers twitch, knee jiggling. He's a bit uneasy about Quintana, a man he's not familiar with, being in such close proximity to the young man. My _young man_ , Percival catches himself thinking, with a hint of surprise.

Credence is absolutely taken by the environment, however. He watches the long, brown, rectangular boxes float around him with an air of a blind child seeing for the first time. Percival, Tina and Queenie observe him with what Percival can only describe what proud parents must feel like.

They are gathered Tina and Queenie's apartment, in the parlour. While it is spacious, bright and welcoming, Quintana had arrived and magicked stacks and stacks of boxes of wands along with him, all arranged haphazardly on top of each other, only separated by types of cores.

A measuring tape hovers near Credence, and the boy jumps when it _zip_ s upward, stretching out to measure his height.

Quintana grins widely. He is a tall, obnoxiously optimistic, brown-skinned man, with hands calloused probably from all the wand whittling. He wears a simple dress shirt and pants, bearing an eccentrically coloured bowtie and just-as-bright suspenders. He runs a hand over his head, which is topped with short, spiky black hair—it doesn't reach the thick, horn-rimmed glasses set on his slanted nose.

"Quite tall, yes… Your shoulders are hunched a little bit, but that's alright, you're maybe a handful of inches shorter than the, uh," Quintana throws a wink in Percival's direction, " _handsome_ Mr. Graves here. Let's see… right handed…" He hums as he analyses Credence's features. "My, oh my. Credence Barebone, you say? You have quite the impeccable facial structure."

Credence is clearly confused as to what this means, but he takes it as a compliment from the appreciative tone of the wandmaker's voice, and says, "Thank you, sir." Behind him, Queenie makes an indignant noise from the back of her throat.

"Right," Quintana laughs, and waves his hand in a rather feminine manner. "You can read my mind, right, Queenie, sweetie? Well, do me a favour and don't mention anything that you saw…"

Queenie wrinkles her nose, and huffs.

"Um, Mr. Quintana, like I said, prefers unconventional methods," Tina says, almost like she's trying to explain to herself something.

"Right," Percival says, eyeing the man in front of him now sorting through the boxes gliding around. It's starting to be clear now what exactly is the deal with Quintana, who continuously throws winks and smirks in his direction. He hasn't been expecting this from a man who lives in the South, where he knows differences are a lot less tolerated than up in New York. Brave man, he must say, especially in this day and age, where homosexuals are frowned upon so much.

"Yes, I do!" chirps Quintana. "I don't really like the law, you lot would know that. In fact, how indeed are you going to get a wand permit for this young one here?"

Percival is quick with a response, having thought this through repeatedly. "I will get one filled out for him once we get him separated from the Obscurus; I'll explain to Picquery—"

"Say no more!" Quintana wheezes, interrupting him, and brings a tanned hand theatrically to his forehead. He shifts forward and puts a finger to Percival's mouth, all in a very dramatic fashion. "The danger here is, oh, too much."

Tina stifles a giggle at the bewildered expression on Percival's face. "Let's go, Quintana."

"Right, right," sing-songs Quintana, and holds out one of the boxes to Credence with a warm brown wand inside. "Let's start with this. Wave it around a little. Ten inches, hazel wood. Unicorn hair."

Credence looks at all of them, a bit excited, especially at the mention of _unicorn hair,_ before his eyes land on Percival, almost like he's asking, _Can I?_

Percival smiles, moving his head, as if answering, _Go for it._

Credence reaches for it and picks it up, but he blushes, almost like he's feeling silly.

"Nope," Quintana says almost immediately, pulling it out of his hand and throwing it back into the box. With a flick of his wand, the box arranges itself on the floor. Another box lands in his outstretrched hand. "Red oak. Kneazle whisker. Eleven inches."

Credence, confused now, picks it up from the box. Before he has a chance to wave it, Quintana plucks it out of his fingers and back into the box. "Another! Troll whisker! Spruce! Ten and a half inches!"

Again, and again, Credence attempts to wave each wand he's presented with, but Quintana only steals it and chucks it back into the boxes to be magicked into a pile on the hardwood floor—the rejects, at least, according to Quintana. He only stops occasionally for a short anecdote on the making of the wand.

Percival remembers his wand selection when he was young. It's always been a joy to witness a young witch or wizard getting chosen. Even Tina and Queenie are rapt in watching, a look of excitement on their faces, reminiscing back to a time of their own.

At one point, Credence hesitates after his twentieth try, which was a nine inch, rowan wood, dragon heartstring wand. "What, exactly, am I looking for?" he asks a bit sheepishly.

" _You're_ not the one looking," Quintana laughs as he causes the boxes that are to be tried to line up in a queue behind him. "The _wand's_ looking for you!"

This only confuses Credence further. To Percival's discomfort, he looks a little discouraged.

"What if the wand doesn't want me?" Credence asks in a small voice.

"Credence," Percival says, and he gets up, striding across the parlour to the young man. He grasps the young man's wrist. His voice is deep and confident. "There _will_ be a wand for you, I know it." Credence nods mutely, looking comforted to a degree. Quintana suddenly pops up in between them, and Percival, startled, goes back a few steps.

"Thaaaat's right! There will be a wand for you, my boy!" Quintana says excitedly. "This is rather exciting, don't you think?"

Percival has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He steps back, allowing Credence more space to continue picking up wands that just get taken out of his hand again by Quintana.

Percival sighs a little. Quintana is harmless, from what he's seen so far. Just a rather peculiar-minded wandmaker, but then again, which wandmaker isn't peculiar in the head?…

He observes Credence. The boy is concentrated, eyes lighting up at the mentions of different wand cores.

Merlin, there's just so much he wanted to teach the boy about—dragons, unicorns, wampus cats, Veela, Basilisks… there's a whole other world for Credence to discover, and it pleases Percival greatly to know that he can be part of that. To teach. _But I want to be a_ part _of his whole world, too, and him, a part of mine,_ a voice says in the back of his head. His thoughts are interrupted as he becomes aware of a buzzing in the air. No—it's not in the air, because Tina, Queenie and Quintana would have reacted to it too.

He looks around, then back at Credence. It's coming from Credence, but very faintly. Faintly… Percival watches Credence intently, trying to find the source of the sound. Is he being attacked? No. It's a sound… no, not a sound, a vibration.

Percival closes his eyes for a brief moment. He can visualize the vibration, the waves. It's almost like the waves are vibrating only between him and Credence; the link is there one moment and then not the next. None of the other adults in the room seem to notice, so Percival concludes it is only him that feels this strange connection.

Mysterious. Percival opens his eyes again, and his gaze sweeps over the queue of boxes that are about to be tried by Credence—the second box catches his attention. But why? It is the same colour and texture as all the rest, but something about it keeps his gaze fixed upon it. The wand inside… For some reason, it feels right, feels like it's calling to him. Feels like it's the one for Credence. Percival finds this strange; how can he possibly know this? His own wand twitches in his coat pocket.

"Ah, this one's a gem. It was extremely difficult to attain this core. Eleven and a half inches, cedar wood. Pukwudgie quill," Quintana says, smiling broadly. He picks up the box that Percival's eyes had been on. "I had to take a trip to Canada to find one, and _convince_ it, to give me a quill. Almost had to trade my right arm, that did—they're rather witty—but it's worth it, yes…"

Credence gingerly picks it up with his hand, and the instant his fingers touch it, his eyes widen. The room is filled with the heavy, familiar presence of _magic_. Quintana abruptly stops talking about his sister and her obsession with Canada to vigorously stare at the wand in the boy's hands.

Percival's breath quickens. How… How did he know? He isn't imagining things, is he? _I need more sleep,_ he tells himself. Instead, he focuses on the look of wonder spreading across Credence's face.

Credence gives the wand a wave. "It's warm," he mumbles in awe. Percival realises he must be talking about the warmth that ran through his wandhand when he first got chosen by his own wand. Silver sparks shoot out of the end of the wand in Credence's grip, showering the room with them. Tina and Queenie give a cheer and clap.

Percival looks around quickly at the room; for a second he thinks he sees black wisp-like smoke curling around the room, cloud-like pieces fluttering around. Credence must have seen them too, because he glances around, a little nervous now, before Quintana suddenly shuts the empty box with a loud bang, snapping the two out of their worry.

"Perfect!" the wandmaker exclaims, clapping his hands together. "Pukwudgie quill, I never would have guessed it! Interesting, what conflict…" He eyes Credence with a scientific interest. "Pukwudgie quills, they only come to he who is like a heart to others. Kind. Someone independent, and someone others need… yet, the cedar wood indicates fierce loyalty and following of others…"

He swirls with his wand, and all boxes suddenly fade from sight with a crack. The box that Credence's wand belongs to remains in his hand, where the description begins to materialise on the cover of the box. A floating quill inscribes the name in neat handwriting: _Credence Barebone._ An empty wand permit paper, signed by Quintana himself, unfolds itself from his pocket.

"Whenever you're ready, you just fill that out, and do your legal business or whatever you do to register wands," he says as Percival picks the form from the air. "Credence's use of it won't be detected until then."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Quintana," Percival says, and reaches for his wallet, where his wizarding money lay concealed underneath his No-Maj money.

Credence starts from behind them. "Percival!—"

"No, no!" Quintana twitters, pressing a hand to Percival's chest, rather uncomfortably. "No payment is needed—even though that Pukwudgie quill was incredibly hard to come by. Canada, I tell you… Anyway, consider it a gift. You're welcome to drop by anytime you're in the South, though, Mr. Graves, if you want some fun." He winks suggestively at Percival, before suddenly going for a hug.

Percival coughs and sidesteps the hug, only clapping the man on the shoulder. "Right, thank you, Mr. Quintana. Thank you very much."

Brushing it off, Quintana grins and twirls over to Credence. "Alright then, Credence, my boy! A wizarding world awaits you!"

Credence smiles a little, eyes on the wand in his hands. He waves it again, looking delighted. More sparks, and it's almost like they change colour from silver to gold.

Queenie rolls her eyes. "Mr. Quintana, I can _hear_ you," she says, a disgusted look on her face. "Gosh!"

Percival's not sure he wants to know what Quintana's thinking about as he only giggles quite girlishly.

* * *

"My own wand," sighs Credence quietly in reverence. He clutches the empty box with him, trembling fingers tracing his own name on the long rectangular lid. The wand is lying still on the dinner table.

It's late now, the two men a little tired from the excitement of the day's events. The curtains are open a crack, where the New York cityline can just be seen glittering outside. Percival, if he really wants to, can still recall the, well, _experience_ the two had earlier in the day, but he doesn't want to address it at the moment. Besides, Credence is incredibly taken with the wand.

Percival, looking over his shoulder from the inspection of his ingredients cabinet, smiles genuinely. Credence's excitement is contagious. "There's so much I want to teach you, Credence," he says. "Proper wand use, spells, Apparition, magical creatures, potion-making…" Credence glances up, and takes a proper look at the cabinet, where the flickering flames are reflected on the glass cover. Inside are things the boy's never seen before, things he couldn't possibly dream up of.

"I look forward to it," Credence says honestly.

Percival smiles and continues looking over his cabinets, mentally taking inventory and partially dusting off the glass. He hasn't touched much of the magical ingredients, partly because he's not sure what he remembers from Potions in Ilvermorny. Opening two of the cabinets, he reaches in to take a look at the many vials and flasks, the stale smell of dust permeating from within. What exactly can he make with batwings and beetle's eyes again? Or the magically-preserved ginger roots and silverweed in the glass box in the corner?

In his reminiscence, by mistake, Percival knocks over a few of the glass flasks with his arm. They drop through the air and crack into a million tiny glass pieces on the dining room floor.

Percival mentally berates himself before he senses Credence come over.

" _Reparo_ ," Credence says, voice trembling a little bit. He has his new wand in his hand, and he gestures as he had done before, over the broken flasks.

Percival already feels the broad grin on his face, unstoppable and happy. The flasks, piece by piece, fit together again, looking good as new.

"Amazing," Percival says, "I think you've mastered fixing things. You can fix anything you want." Credence's wide smile matches his own. Percival can't keep his eyes off the smiling young man.

"Thank you, Percival. Please, teach me more," Credence says, almost a pleading tone, and runs back to the bookshelf, where he has started to organise the textbooks earlier. "Just… tell me anything. I want to learn."

Percival strides over, full of pride. This side of Credence, the eager and determined Credence, floods Percival with such love that he doesn't know how to react. He feels warm, feels _fuzzy_ , feels like he's drunk a little. How dare Mary Lou Barebone repress this young man? How dare she hurt him, how dare she oppress his learning, his development? How dare _Grindelwald_ hurt him?

Credence has pulled the level-one spellbook from the shelf.

Percival watches fondly as he opens it to the first few pages. "Let's do one."

"'Levitation Charm'," Credence reads aloud. "'A charm that will lift any object up to fly. Difficulty: first year.'"

Percival takes over. "'Tests: Skill, patience. Works on only objects, not humans. Duration depends on magical skill and weight of object.'" He smiles, side-glancing at Credence, who seems to be frantically trying to memorise it. He laughs a little, and Credence looks at him, almost embarrassedly.

Percival waves his wand. " _Accio_ notebook," he says under his breath, imagining the empty notebook that was supposed to be a journal of some sorts at his bedside table. Instantly, the notebook, a dark brown leather-bound book with yellowing pages, whizzes down the stairs towards him, straight into his hands, in front of a wide-eyed Credence. He picks up a pen laying at the table.

"Your new notebook. We'll go shopping tomorrow for school supplies—I'll disguise you somehow," Percival says determinedly. Now with Credence's new wand, he can really start learning. Credence cannot possibly look any happier. He cradles the given notebook in his arms, along with his wand.

"Thank you," he whispers, and his brown eyes meet with Percival's. Percival can see the hearth's flames reflected in them. "I… Truly, Percival. Thank you."

Percival can only smile weakly back as Credence turns to scribble down what he's learned so far about the charm in the new notebook.

" _Wingardium Leviosa,_ " pronounces Credence as he writes it down. " _Wingardium Leviosa."_

Percival quickly takes out a book from the shelf, and as a demonstration, he casts the levitation charm on it. The book floats up, almost dreamily.

Credence smiles. The book lands down on the table. "Go ahead," Percival says.

Clearing his throat, Credence imitates his hand movement. " _Wingardium Leviosa_."

The book merely rattles a little on the spot.

"That's a good sign," Percival says reassuringly, as Credence looks crestfallen. "Try again. _Wingardium Levio_ sa." This time, he places a hand supportively on Credence's waist as he lifts his wand again. He's not sure if it's the lambent firelight, but Credence's ears have turned red.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," Credence utters, and Percival, once again, experiences the feeling of magic through Credence's arm. Truly, Credence is full of power.

The book, which revealed in the light, is _The History of Magic_ , drifts up into the air. Credence copies what Percival had done, which was keep it afloat with the wand pointing towards it.

"Wow," whispers Credence, in admiration.

"Great job," Percival says, pleased, and gives Credence a squeeze.

Credence suddenly twists and throws himself at Percival in a hug. "Thank you," he says passionately into Percival's shoulder. "Thank you so much." _The History of Magic_ plummets and is about to hit the dinner table but Percival quickly saves it with some non-verbal magic, letting it land softly on the surface. He smiles, returning the hug.

"You're welcome, Credence," he says into his dark hair, stroking the back of his neck intimately. It has grown out now, a little curlier at the ends.

The way that Credence holds on to him reminds Percival of a drowning person holding on to a life raft. Driven by the will to live.

"You must be tired," he says huskily, and pulls away just enough to look down at Credence's face. He touches the young man's jaw tenderly. In the light of the fireplace, the dimples are especially visible on his cheeks. Credence's eyes close, and he melts into Percival again.

"Yes," he admits. "I should get ready for bed."

Percival nods, restraining himself, and begins to move away, but Credence shifts, with his face still pressed against Percival's body.

"Can I…"

Percival freezes, and knows right away what Credence wants to ask. His heartrate skyrockets.

"Can I stay with you? Again?"

Eyes focused on _The History of Magic_ on the table, Percival nods into Credence's hair. "Yes…"

Credence pulls away this time, and smiles, a content look on his face, and he grabs _The History of Magic_ with him before rapidly heading to the stairs. "I'll see you up there," he says, and Percival supposes that he's going off to get dressed to sleep.

Percival blinks and rubs his eyes. Merlin, what a day. His emotions have taken a huge ride, bumpier than the ride on the back of a Thunderbird. The more he thinks about Credence, the more he feels as if he's in a whirlwind. In just over two weeks, he's gotten to see the young man slowly coming out of his shell. To think he was part of that… _I am a lucky man_ , he thinks. _What did I do to deserve this?_

Percival makes his way upstairs. He changes and brushes his teeth, and just as he's entering his room, Credence comes. He is carefully levitating _The History of Magic_ in front of him, his wand outstretched. Chuckling a little, Percival moves the covers and slides in.

Credence smiles shyly at him and drops the book, catching it in his hands. "I'm reading a little bit of the book every day… but I haven't gotten to the Pukwudgies yet." He falters around the word "Pukwudgie", and Percival only smiles. The Pukwudgie quill in his wand.

"Pukwudgies. They're beings that can turn to porcupine form, and I guess Quintana took the quill from it, in Canada. They're super independent, and sometimes like to play tricks on people," Percival explains. Credence's jaw is open. Percival gestures for him to join him, and continues. "They're actually a house in Ilvermorny, the wizarding school, along with three other beings."

"Wizarding school," Credence echoes, marvelling at the two words. He clambers into the bed, right next to Percival, eyes on him. "Please, tell me more. I—Ma said I couldn't go to public school, she said it was full of bad things. Modesty, Chastity and I. And most of the other children, too. We were all homeschooled... not too well, though."

Percival feels honoured that Credence would ask him. "Of course. Ilvermorny is a wizarding school for those in America. Wizarding children go there to learn. The four houses, well, they're the Pukwudgie, Thunderbird, Wampus, and the Horned Serpent." He explains further about what the meaning is to be chosen by each, and more about the existence of wizards and witches.

"I had no idea," Credence sighs, and holds the wand most humbly in his hands, as if he's holding a piece of the Scripture. "Which one were you?"

Percival smiles. "Both Pukwudgie and Thunderbird chose me. I decided to go with Pukwudgie. I've never turned out a Healer, though."

Credence smiles and seems to be oddly satisfied. "Pukwudgie. Like my wand." Percival wants to laugh; Credence is actually _adorable;_ he is pleased that they have a connection.

Here they are, seated on Percival's bed, talking more about the wizarding world. Bonding. Percival is sure as he gets more and more comfortable with Credence, the young man is opening up further to him, and he's not sure anything feels better than this. Every once in a while, Percival experiences what he calls a _first—_ a first of Credence holding a smile for longer than five minutes, a first of Credence making a small joke.

 _Is this what it feels like to heal? To recover? To... fall in love?_

It's so pleasant, having someone to talk to. Percival recalls all the lonely nights he had before this: no one to talk to, no one to share with.

At midnight, the light by the bed goes out. Credence turns to look at it, but Percival quickly explains, "I have it charmed to turn off at midnight. A reminder for me to sleep."

Credence looks back at him, amazed. "You can charm objects to do specific tasks?" This leads to another conversation in the dark, moonlight being the sole source of illumination.

In the moonlight, Credence looks especially ethereal and beautiful, and Percival settles back on the pillows as he continues to talk. After a lull in the conversation, Credence too burrows himself under the covers as he places _The History of Magic_ and his wand on the bedside table. Percival fondly watches him, not expecting anything else. It's enough for him to just witness the young man be able to peacefully sleep: a stark difference from when they'd first met.

However, Credence uncertainly reaches for Percival's wrist, but in doing so, misses and touches his stomach instead.

Percival stiffens, before relaxing into his touch. He's not sure where this is leading, but no matter what, he wants Credence to be safe. He feels the weight of sleep on his eyelids, and Credence is warm in his bed.

In silence, Credence shuffles forward, almost timidly. Percival feels himself being drawn close, like a magnetic pull. Again, he feels the ghost of the strange vibrations, of magic, from earlier in the day, when they had been wand choosing.

It's linking the two of them, and Percival has no idea what to think. Percival wraps an arm around Credence's torso, and his hand finds its way to Credence's wrist. "Do you feel that?" he whispers, realising he's very close to Credence's face. From the glow of the moon, he can make out the eyes of Credence on his. They're almost nose-to-nose.

"Yes," whispers back Credence. After a pause, he adds softly, "It's nice. I feel… free."

"Free?" asks Percival, and lets go of his wrist to caress his face. "Free of…"

"I feel like someone _Wingardium Leviosa-_ ed me," responds Credence, and Percival almost laughs. "I feel like… there are no worries. I feel _happy_. I feel like… the Obscurus can't take control of me again."

"I'm glad," says Percival. "Soon we'll be able to get rid of it, when Newt arrives. You'll be truly—"

"—free," Credence finishes. His eyelids flutter shut. "Can we sleep like this?"

"Yes," breathes Percival, resisting the urge to press a kiss on the young man's lips.

"Thank you," Credence says, breathing already deepening.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes: EEEEK! Lots of emotions, lots of love in this chapter. Thanks so much for the comments, I appreciate lots! Again, please feel free to leave reviews/critique! Muchly appreciated :)**

* * *

 **One**

 **Chapter 6**

* * *

Percival clicks his teeth and steps back, gaze sweeping up and down Credence's form.

Credence blushes, looking rather bashful and aware of himself, which amuses Percival.

"This is fine. I wouldn't recognise you," he says, and reaches to adjust the fedora-like hat on the young man's head, lowering it over his gorgeously feline-like eyes. He is draped in one of Percival's many, luxurious, long wool coats. To Percival, Credence looks dashing—mysterious and handsome. Even his posture seems to have straightened, a spring of confidence in his character.

They're preparing to head out, with Credence under guise. The plan is for the two to drop by a couple wizarding stores for a few missing textbooks and ingredients and quickly make it back home.

Credence nods, and smiles a little. In a small voice, he says, "I like the coat very much so."

"I'd like to buy you a new one," Percival starts to say, but then catches Credence ever so slightly turn his head to the upturned collar and inhale—he's _sniffing_ the coat. Percival feels electric and extremely powerful—now _he's_ the one with a major confidence boost. _Credence likes the way I smell_. Closing his mouth, Percival turns. "Let's depart," he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

Credence follows behind, and Percival finds himself with the instinct to hold on to the boy's hand. Instead, as they exit the house, Percival only gestures for them to enter the alleyway between houses and, discreetly, Credence slides closer, face pressing against Percival's chest. His face presses closer and closer, feeling as if he's squeezed from all sides, before he opens his eyes and the two are now in another area.

"I'll teach you about that too soon. There's a test you have to take before you can legally Apparate," explains Percival, watching Credence catch his breath.

Nodding, Credence coughs and looks around at his new surroundings.

Percival smiles. The sun is mildly warm on their faces, providing a buffer against the sharp cold breeze against their faces. Snow still glitters on the grass—pure white and only marred by children's footprints in Central Park, which is to the east of where they're standing. The buildings on the west seem to be all normal, completely un-magical. No-Majs are hustling and bustling about.

"It's a nice day today," admires Percival as they walk along the slushy road to a yet another rather innocent looking alleyway. A No-Maj woman nearly knocks Credence over as she runs by, clutching parcels wrapped with eye-catching, colourful velvet bows. Credence stumbles over and holds onto Percival's elbow, almost slightly hiding behind him. He's startled, as Percival can tell, and looks a little afraid; his hands are trembling.

"It's okay," Percival soothes, turning to hug the young man against himself, and he takes off his leather glove to gently cup the back of Credence's corded neck.

"I… I haven't been out in a while," whispers Credence, and Percival sees he's screwed his eyes shut.

Percival continues to make calming noises and looks around. "Credence, take a look. Holiday decorations," he says, and he feels Credence shift against him to open his eyes and glance nervously around.

If it's one thing that Percival's forgotten, it's that New Yorkers really got into the holiday spirit. It is a couple days until Christmas, after all. From the opening of the alleyway, one can see, on the street, the lights strewn over shop windows and boughs entwined with pine, holly and bright red bows hung on doors.

Percival holds Credence until his breathing stabilises, to which he backs away just enough to have his face a couple inches from the young man's. His hands find their way inside Credence's coat, grasping his wrists.

"It's Christmas. I'm going to buy you a Christmas present," Percival says. Credence instantly flushes.

"No, it's alright—"

"I want to," Percival insists, assuredness and authority ringing in his tone, to which Credence's mouth twitches in a smile. He draws closer, seemingly attracted by Percival's voice. "I can only hope it makes up for all the presents you've missed in the past."

"Thank you," Credence whispers, and his eyes lift up to meet his briefly, genuine gratitude and care in them.

The words _I love you_ suddenly bubble up in Percival's throat like Giggle Water, but he fights them back. It's inappropriate at the moment—he and Credence still have not addressed their situation the day before. Instead, Percival breaks away—he instantly misses the warmth of Credence's body—and turns, striding down the alley. Credence follows.

At the end of the alley, three decrepit posters hang: one on the left wall, one on the right, and one on the wall facing them. Each one has a different advertisement for a cleaning product on it, but look to be very old; its edges are peeling, having merged with the wall after so much time against it. On the left poster is the sepia image of a woman in an apron flourishing one of the earliest models of vacuums. " _New Invention Sweeps Nation's Attention And Our Dust! Now Available at Macy's."_

With his wand, Percival taps the woman's vacuum. Credence, behind him, jumps suddenly—reason being the woman on the poster moves, jerking her vacuum away. She has an annoyed expression on her face, and only points to the poster hanging on the middle wall. Percival then taps, two times, on the middle poster, on top of another woman brandishing a feather duster, which seems to suspiciously resemble a wand with feathers out of it.

The woman in that poster laughs as if she's being tickled and tosses the feather duster to the right, and Credence gives a gasp. Percival wants to laugh, because Credence's reaction is simply too precious. The woman in the third poster, on the right, catches the duster as if it's travelled between the two posters. She drops the bottle of _Procter &Gamble Cleaning Solution_ in her hands and instead points the feather duster at Percival, to which Percival touches his wand to.

Instantly, the wall on which the second poster hangs rotates with a large creak, and Percival steps back. He feels Credence clutching on to his coat.

The door having completely rotated, Percival steps through the now-gaping crevice with Credence in tow.

"Tuck your hat down now, Credence," Percival says quickly. "We may come across someone I know who might question you. In better circumstances, I'll show you Central Square a little better."

Credence does as he's told, trailing behind him as inconspicuously as possible, but it's a little hard for him as he struggles to intake everything. _Central Square_. Percival glances back every once in a while to see Credence sneaking peeks at the different shops held open and wizards/witches milling about, eyes, though hidden, had a spark of awe in them.

The two duck into a book store, where it's quiet inside, with a musty air. The bell above rings twice. Credence hovers near one of the shelves as Percival swoops in to the other shelves, quickly collecting the textbooks he had in mind. He doesn't talk to the book salesman, who seems a little put-off that someone wouldn't talk to him.

Percival looks over quickly to see Credence reading some of the titles in awe. _Okay… No one seems to suspect him much…_ He returns to his task at hand. _Transfiguration: Part One Out Of Seven, Fifteenth Ilvermorny Edition._ _General Potions One (Revised for Ilvermorny, Twelfth Edition)._ He takes the two rather heavy textbooks and brings them to the counter, where the clerk rings up his purchases—she doesn't seem to recognise who he is, thankfully.

As he takes the two textbooks in a bag, bewitched to feel lighter, he hears voices. Looking over, his heartbeat quickens to see the book salesman engage in conversation with Credence. He straightens, walking over—but as he draws near, the conversation seems to be entirely innocent.

"Yes, I did start reading _Great Expectations_ ," Credence has been saying. He's a little shy, but seems to be interested in discussing novels.

"Indeed, No-Maj authors have quite the imagination also! I'll say, I indeed look forward to Charles Dicken's work," continues the salesman. "I had to ask my supervisor if I could sell it here, but of course, you know how he feels about No-Majs... Got the title anyway, though!"

Credence meets Percival's eyes for a second before he nods politely. "I must go, sir. Thank you for your time." Percival is out the door before the book salesman can turn and see him. Credence brushes past and out the door also, joining the older man outside, where Percival is shaking his head.

"You must be careful," he says without elaborating, and Credence suddenly seems to know what he's talking about. He looks down, ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and his hands start to tremble again. "I didn't—I didn't expect him to talk to me, but he wanted to talk about novels. I'm sorry." He holds out one hand, palm upright, shaking. It has old, healed scars.

Percival blanches at the meaning of this. What sort of conditioning has he been through? He pushes Credence's hand down to his side and places another, reassuringly, on the back of Credence's neck again. "I'm not going to whip you, Credence. That is a thing of the past, and will never, ever be in your future," he says quietly. "Especially with _me_. No. Not at all."

Before Credence can react, already, Percival has drawn away, gripping him by his wrist. The two head to the next stop: _Matilda's Potion Equipment and Ingredients._ Fortunately, Matilda is sort of a batty old lady who doesn't seem to care about you—unless, of course, someone tries to shoplift. Percival and Credence leave the store, smelling of a funny, medicinal scent, holding on to a couple bags full of quirky things Credence has never seen before, and brand new, copper scales along with a sturdy, pewter black cauldron.

Percival pauses as they return to the entrance of Central Square from which they've come from. Credence is preparing himself to leave when Percival suddenly sneaks a hand into his coat, running a finger over the inside of Credence's wrist. The young man, immediately rapt, looks up to Percival, eyes on him.

"I forgot your present," Percival says, and with a smile on his face, tugs him to the side, where an old rickety building stands that Credence missed before. Credence barely catches a glance at the sign above the door before he enters.

" _New York Wizarding Shelter,"_ echoes Credence, and Percival knows from the intake of the boy's breath that he is excited, scarcely believing it. Sure enough, as they enter, Percival feels Credence automatically let go of his hand, and watches him press his face against the glass.

Owls are hooting softly in cages elevated near the ceiling, and next to the cages lay coops for flocks of cooing messenger pigeons. On floor level, glass boxes hold litters of puppies and in some other, kittens, which Credence seems delighted with. Deeper into the dimly lit shelter are signs indicating the presence of different species of toads, rats, and raccoons.

Percival gazes around, momentarily taken back to his childhood, where his mother adopted for him his first owl. His owl had passed a few years ago.

Credence turns to him, joy written into his face.

"Yes," Percival says, answering his unasked question. "Take someone home with you today. This is a shelter, not an emporium—they all need homes."

"Home," Credence repeats, and Percival flushes. _Yes, home_.

The volunteer at the shelter is sitting behind the counter. "Are you adopting today?" he asks Percival, gesturing at Credence, who's walking around, looking in wonder at the animals.

"Yes," Percival replies, eyes on Credence.

"He seems especially taken with the cats," the man says, getting up and going around to where Credence is standing.

Credence is watching one of the smallest cats struggling to get to the food plate, where six other kittens are knocking each other about to eat at. The tiny kitten continuously is bowled over, but resiliently gets up and attempts to reach the plate again.

"That one?" Percival asks from behind, and he's thankful for the low light in the building as he presses a hand encouragingly against Credence's back.

"I—yes, I suppose—well, he's just so…" Credence trails off, eyes on the small, tough kitten. Its fur is sleek and black. For a moment, the kitten gets distracted by the tail of another cat: an older cat. The older cat pads through the glass container; clearly a mixed one, as it's speckled with grey and black fur. A tabby mixed with something else. Credence's eyes are on that one now. The older cat easily moves through the cluster of younger kittens, and eats from the food plate easily. Now that there is a path created by the cat, the weaker, tiny black kitten makes its way through the legs of the older cat to nibble at the food too.

"I'll adopt both of them," Percival suddenly says to the volunteer. Credence looks up in surprise.

"A Christmas present for myself," Percival says explanatorily, and the volunteer nods, going into the back to fetch two portable crates and the paperwork needed to adopt.

Credence's face is lit up, and he smiles. While the volunteer is gone, he turns and presses a hug into Percival.

Chuckling a little bit, Percival strokes the back of Credence's head. "I miss my owl, but a cat's a refreshing change."

* * *

"Ma said that black cats are a bad omen," Credence says as he holds his hand out to the tiny black kitten. He's decided to name the male kitten Pip, after the main character in _Great Expectations._ Pip paws at Credence's fingers, mewling and batting at them. Beside them, the older, senior cat lay in a circle on Percival's carpet by the hearth, asleep.

"What do you want to name him?" Credence had asked. Percival, feeling like he had zero imagination, had leaned in, running his fingers through the old cat's fur. The cat purred gruffly, and Percival only laughed. "He reminds me of my father. Graves, I'm going to call him Graves," he had answered, to Credence's smile.

Now, Percival is arranging what they had bought for the day. "I don't think Pip will ever be a bad omen," remarks Percival. The new cat toys and beds he's bought float and arrange themselves near the fireside. "And for Graves, I have a feeling he'll only sleep all day."

Credence smiles at this, and cradles Pip in his hand. The firelight dances on him, and Percival watches for a bit. It's a picture he wishes he can store away forever: a long, gangly young man sitting by _his_ fireplace, petting cats and looking positively otherworldly.

His cheekbones are sharp, jawline protruding, eyelashes long, nose a perfect angle… Quintana was right—he has perfect facial structure. Credence's Adam's apple bobs every other minute, all delicious curves and lines, and Percival's gaze lowers to the boy's collarbones, just as sharp, just barely peeking out from the collar of his cotton undershirt. Skin. So much skin, and the glow the fire casts upon it makes it so much more tempting.

Credence looks up at Percival staring at him, and blushes, looking away. "Let me help with dinner. It's the least I can do," he says, and gets up. The black kitten jumps around at his feet before becoming occupied with, yet again, the flicking tail of Graves.

Percival nods mutely and goes to the kitchen. How can anyone so breathtakingly beautiful be existing in his living room? Surely, if Veela were male, he has one in his house.

The two work together in silence. Percival's not sure if Credence finds it awkward—he seems to be comfortable, efficiently stirring pots and checking the heat under them. Percival easily takes care of the tomatoes, onions and carrots being peeled and chopped up with a wave of his wand.

"Where do you work, Percival? That someone would recognise you and question you?" Credence suddenly asks, recalling earlier in the day.

"I work at MACUSA. I'm the Department Head of Magical Security," says Percival. He finds himself talking about his job, about his life. Pre-Grindelwald. He talks about his beginnings as an Auror, having to Obliviate No-Majs, and first encountering the followers of Grindelwald.

"Tina Goldstein, she's one of my subordinates. We were close, and, well… Grindelwald using my body, he sentenced her and Newt Scamander to death. Not the best way to maintain friendships," Percival laughs, almost bitterly. He finds he's gripping onto his wand a little too tight. "Grindelwald did a number on us. On all of us. I find it hard trusting myself sometimes."

Credence looks sympathetic as he ladles heavenly-smelling soup into bowls and flips freshly-seared chicken breast onto white plates. He doesn't say anything, and allows Percival to continue talking.

It's rather therapeutic for the older man. At last, as they sit down to eat, and Credence pauses to say a quick prayer, Percival turns his attention to him.

He hesitates, not sure if he should inquire about Credence's past, but Credence seems to pardon him and says, without him asking, "I only handed out leaflets about the cause and cooked for the orphans. Ma expected us to do most of the work. I stopped getting schooled around sixteen, and that's what I've been doing since. I had a little sister, Modesty. She got adopted out of a family of eight. She was the nicest out of all of us. She cared about me. I believe she's gone to live with another orphanage now, but I don't know if I should try to find her. I think that's the only true love I knew. I used to think Ma loved me."

Credence's voice peters out to a mechanical tone, as if he's recounting his pain, too. It sounds as if he's taken a shot of Veritaserum. Percival is gripping the edge of the table, white knuckled—he knows what's coming. He recalls what Tina Goldstein got demoted for. With the other hand, he encircles Credence's wrist.

"Credence, we don't have to…"

But Credence continues, words tumbling out of him, as if they've been in him, festering, for a long time. Underneath, at their feet, the dark wreaths of the Obscurus begin to swirl around the table legs, up the table, around their dishes…

"I thought she did. She gave me my first beating at nine. I told her the _thing_ inside me felt sad, and strange things kept happening. I think it was the Obscurus… I thought everyone had a thing inside. Then I grew up pushing it away, and the strange things stopped. Telling it to go away, but it's always there, always present. I think at twelve, I realised she didn't love me at all." Credence's hand twitches, and the black smoke sinks into his skin, licking up his arm as flames do.

"Then Miss Goldstein—Tina—came. I saw what I saw in Modesty. Real, true love. She stopped Ma. But she disappeared after—I think she got in trouble. And then… I met you."

Some of the Obscurus that had been snaking around Credence's arm stops at where Percival's fingers are. Percival knows. Then Grindelwald had come, masked with his face.

"I met Grindelwald. At first, I thought I saw what I saw in Modesty and Tina. He touched my face, my neck, and he'd hug me. He told me if I found a child of immense power, he would help me break free. I believed him. I didn't expect that child to be me, since he'd said it'd be a young child. He didn't, either. But when I looked at his eyes, there was something strange, something lacking. He hit me after, the night everything happened. I was so angry, so betrayed…"

Percival's teeth are gritted. His eyes are on Credence, who is staring across the table. The black smoke-like wisps are rising into the air, above the young man. He knows the story but still can't believe what he's hearing. He wants to break into the holding cells of MACUSA right now and beat the living hell out of the dark wizard—not with magic, but with his bare fists.

"Still after, you found me."

Credence suddenly stops, and his gaze shifts to meet Percival's. Just like that, like a candle being blown out, the black mass swirling around them shrinks out of view, leaving only tiny fragments drifting in the air. His voice lowers and speeds up. Percival remembers when he had first laid eyes on the boy, in that damn alley, behind a curtain of inky-black smoke.

"You found me, the real Mister Graves. In the alleyway. And your eyes didn't match the one from before. I wasn't sure, though, and I didn't trust you. But when I got closer… You were different. I could see it. Your hair's greyer, more peppery than his. And your stubble's rougher. You rub your eyes with the heel of your hand, not with your fingers. You smell like smoke and the woods. You leave one button unbuttoned on your coat; he kept them all buttoned. You stand the same way, but you are less arrogant. You are softer with your words… and your eyes…"

For the first time, Credence, with a searching, inquisitive expression on his face, maintains eye contact longer than Percival who looks away.

"You have the same kindness as Modesty and Tina. More so than I've ever seen. He had none. And you've shown me this kindness, again and again. You don't hit me, you don't think I'm a freak. You are more warm than he ever was. And…"

Credence clears his throat, as if he's struggling to get the words out.

"You love me. A real, true love."

For some ridiculous reason, Percival wildly thinks about what a prodigious student Credence would be. His attention to detail and memory are immaculate.

"I do," Percival says, still digesting everything that Credence has said. This whole section of the conversation reminds him so much of the vows at a wedding. His hand on Credence's tightens and he pulls him, almost out of his chair, into a massive embrace. "I do, so much."

Credence sighs against him, and Percival pulls away, stroking Credence's flawless face. "Do you? Do you love me?" Percival asks. His thumb brushes against Credence's upper lip. His _lips_ … A perfect shade of red, a little chapped, a little swollen, but entirely kissable. For a second, he wonders how it'd be if he slid his finger into his mouth.

"I do," answers back Credence instantly, with no doubt. His voice is honest, urgent. "I love you."

This drives Percival's heart into overdrive. He pounces and locks his lips against the boy's, one hand still holding his face and the other reaching down to hook onto his waist. They stand now, their mouths moving in happiness against each other. Percival presses him against the table, dishes sent flying. He doesn't care; his lips have made it to Credence's jawline, where he's always envisioned it, down the jawline, down to his neck, his delightful neck…

His lips suck on and his teeth scrape against Credence's incredibly soft, pale skin: Credence moans, gives a full _moan._ His body pushes against Percival's, almost as if he's trying to melt into him. By the surprised look in Credence's eyes, Percival can tell he hasn't expected that reaction out of himself. The older man pauses, breathing heavily, and eyes the blossoming, dark red bruise on the younger's neck with a sense of accomplishment. _I'm not that old yet,_ Percival thinks, before diving back to Credence's neck, determined to leave more hickeys.

"The only type of mark I want to leave on you," hisses Percival passionately against Credence's neck, and Credence, who probably doesn't know what he's talking about, only scrabbles at Percival's chest, hands trying to find something to hold on to as Percival continues to vigorously kiss his skin. He's making noises, almost like whimpers, but _pleased_.

Trembling, Credence's hands find Percival's face, and Percival's hands drop to wrap around his waist, raising his head to return to kissing his lips. Percival pulls the younger man even closer so the lower regions of their bodies are touching, and feels a jolt of electricity when he feels Credence _hard_ against him. His own hardness can feel the weight of Credence.

"My boy…" Percival whispers against Credence's swollen lips, "can I interest you in a change of scenery?"

Credence, who's gasping against his mouth, nods mutely, unable to say anything. Percival pulls away for a second, realising something. "I'm not sure if you know what I'm asking of you," he says, his hands running up the length of Credence's torso to his face.

Credence only shuts his eyes, leaning into his touch. "No, I don't… but I've imagined something like this before," he says jumpily, almost as if he's confessing a private sin. Percival's mind reels in pleasure; Credence has thought about the two of them together, doing _this_ … Credence opens his eyes, and meets his gaze, if not a little unsteady. "I want you. I'll do whatever you want." His words trail off, but it's more than enough to take Percival's breath away and in one motion, he sweeps him into his embrace and _carries_ him upstairs.

"Merlin, you're making me lose control," Percival rumbles, voice an octave lower. Credence parts his lips, and again, Percival wonders what else can go in those lips.

Upstairs, Credence sprawls all over the bed, and Percival has already jumped on him, mouth darting from his neck to his lips again. While they're kissing, Percival reaches for Credence's shirt and tugs it, slowly, up over his chest. He feels Credence's fingers awkwardly mirroring his, trying to take off his own shirt. Allowing him, he briefly pauses kissing for the least possible amount of time to pull off Credence's shirt and for Credence to pull of his. Right away, he tries to return to Credence's lips, but the younger man has stopped in favour of touching and _seeing_.

A look of awe is on his face, and Percival suppresses a smile. Credence's eyes are wide, and his splayed hands roam around Percival's chest, his abdomen, then the sides of his body, where scars from old curses and hexes are scattered. He gives Credence's a reverent look-see too—he is pale and all sharp-lines. What disturbs Percival is the faded streaks along Credence's arms and waist, and he leans down to kiss the scars.

"No one will hurt you again," Percival says honestly, pressing a kiss and then passing his hands over them to heal with non-verbal magic. Credence looks up at him, blushing, and mumbles, "Thank you."

Percival returns to scouring the boy's body with his eyes. Credence's collarbone is as delicious-looking as ever, and in the dimly lit room, Credence looks _edible_.

Credence must be thinking the same thing about him because he now meets Percival's gaze with eyes that, for the first time, are filled with what Percival identifies as lust, and he thinks, _I might go mad._ In an instant, Percival feels the vibrations of the magic he'd felt yesterday. It's surrounding the two now, and Percival can visibly witness the connection of the magic between them.

Credence has paused in his writhing underneath him—he must see this too.

"You see that, right?" whispers Percival, unable to deny its existence now. Credence nods, dark hair tucked behind his ear. Percival searches his memories, his knowledge, of any magic that can be like this. Dark magic? No. Ancient magic… maybe. Most likely. But Credence moves in a way underneath him that hits _the right spot_ and Percival stifles a groan.

It's not hurting anyone, is it? And so he decides to forget about it for now as he leans back down to kiss Credence. The feeling of his bare skin against Credence's sends imaginary sparks running through him—it feels like an electrical current is sweeping through every inch of his skin.

His hips push against the younger man's, and his response is yet another whimper—music to Percival's ears. Credence pushes back against him, mouth moving against his lips. Percival sits up, pulling Credence with him, and shimmies out of his trousers, leaving just his longer underwear on. Credence sighs once and Percival _knows_ he's asking to get out of his trousers too.

Obliging, he pulls off the younger man's pants, and they are left shirtless with only a thin layer of cotton between them. Percival reaches back quickly for his wand, still stashed in the back pocket of his pants, and quickly magicks their underwear to unbutton and Vanish. He'll have to Conjure them later. Now—they're truly bare, skin against skin.

Credence is trembling as he clutches on to Percival's shoulders. Percival kisses him, and shifts forward, locking their legs together—and their groins _touch_ , which has Credence shuddering and whining.

"Credence," gasps Percival breathlessly, and grasps the protruding hipbones of the boy, who involuntarily jerks against him, earning a low groan from the older man. They are touching in _just_ the right way, their erections pressed up against each other. Percival finally lets go of his hesitance and ruts, and Credence's back arches right into him, his nails digging into Percival's shoulders.

"There we go," whispers Percival, and he uses a free hand to stroke both of them, once, twice, three times… Credence is vocal now, moaning and whimpering and shivering against him, his hips thrusting violently toward him with each stroke.

"Percival," he gets out in between his noises. Credence's voice saying his name causes a groan to escape Percival's lips.

"My boy," he answers, fighting back the urge to unleash a wicked moan, and instead presses his lips against Credence's in a powerful kiss. His hand is quickening now, grip tightening on the two of them. Credence's hips stutter—short, frantic movements, and Percival can feel where the boy is. He's almost at the edge.

He vaguely realises the vibrations of the deep magic is surrounding the room, pressing in on them, but he doesn't care—he's just as close as the boy is—he moans, deep and low against Credence's mouth, and his hips are also thrusting forward, beyond his control, stuttering now—Credence cries out against him, nails drawing blood on Credence's broad shoulders.

Percival unravels, toes curling, hair standing up. He's drifting, defying gravity, floating, unable to comprehend it all—

"Credence," repeats Percival, "Credence, Credence, Credence…" The boy's name brings him back down to earth, and Credence is still in a haze, trembling, eyes still closed, mouth still open in a delicious "o"; he's fallen back down on the bed now, body fully available for him to see. Sweat is on his forehead, with his longer black hair curled up and a stark difference against the white pillows. Percival's heart is warm at the sight.

He fumbles with the wand from the bedside before cleaning their mess with a quick spell, and, his own fingers shuddering, he climbs on top of Credence. Percival quickly covers the two of them with one of the blankets, and kisses the boy softly on the cheek.

"Percival," mutters Credence, who's finally able to formulate words again. His next words are bold, brash, and brave, and they take Percival by the heart. "I love you."

Percival smiles against the boy's skin. "I love you too, Credence. Merlin, you have no idea." He breaks into a dazed laugh, throaty and content. A smile also spreads across Credence's face, his dimples apparent. Percival kisses them worshipfully. He flips over to his side, and feels Credence shift down to rest his head on his chest.

"I wonder what that was, though. The waves," Percival muses thoughtfully. His head is full with the desire to sleep.

"Me too," mumbles Credence sleepily against his skin.

Maybe reading some of the textbooks would help to identify the strange magic. It didn't feel particularly harmful.

"I feel free," Percival hears Credence say.

"Wonderful," Percival replies, fingers combing through Credence's hair, and then massaging the back of the boy's neck. "Know that I love you, Credence. For you and you only. Nothing else. Merlin, I want to marry you, I want to be with you forever…" Credence has already stopped replying, his breathing slowed and deepened.

Percival smiles, heart feeling full and joyful, like a balloon is expanding inside. He briefly wonders what Tina or Newt Scamander might say to this. What Seraphina Picquery might say. This would be quite the scandal.

He turns his head to look at the sleeping form of Credence. Anything would be worth this. Anything.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes: How badly I want Percival Graves to be in the next movie as a good guy! (I don't know if it's possible though!)**

* * *

 **One**

 **Chapter 7**

* * *

Percival wakes the next day in the most bliss he can ever imagine. His body, while aching, feels incredibly refreshed. Everything feels _good_. The sun is warm, peeking through the curtains into the room. He doesn't know what time it is, but it feels like around nine or ten. If he continues like this, he can pretend he has no worries whatsoever.

And the best part of this is the sleeping form next to him. Credence Barebone, naked, curled up at his side, head using his chest for a pillow. Merlin, what a beautiful view. Percival doesn't know if anything could possibly be better than this. He drinks in the sight, trying to commit every detail to memory. If only he had Credence's attention to these things…

Suddenly, Credence stirs. "Percival," he says, voice hoarse, and his eyes crinkle in a smile at the upside down view he has of the older man. Percival's stroking his hair, about to kiss him good-morning— _what an edible boy, maybe he could go for another round right now_ —but the boy's expression changes and he bolts out of bed.

"The cats! They need to eat!"

Percival, who's shocked at first, falls back against the bed, a laugh bubbling in his throat. A kind, compassionate boy he is.

* * *

They spend the morning in an idyllic fashion, gravitating towards one another constantly and talking softly, sharing food. Percival is positively taken. Credence must be an angel. Or something. Can't be human. He's partly sure about the male-Veela theory. The boy has a smattering of bruises around his neck, bright and self-explanatory— _Credence Barebone is Percival's._

All morning, Credence had been freely proclaiming how _free_ he feels. How light he feels.

"I feel like I can do anything," he'd said, and happiness colours every word. Percival had laughed and run his fingers through the boy's lengthening hair, pulling him in for a kiss. _Percival_ feels like he can do anything too, like life is worth living, MACUSA is worth defending…

Credence is now in the living room, writing notes in his book while reading the spellbook with Pip in his lap. He's practicing _Lumos_ with his wand when Percival sees the No-Maj mailman drop off the mail through the mail slot in the bewitched door. The mail instantly sorts itself into a pile nearby. Graves, the senior cat, meows from his position facing the door. Walking over, Percival looks through the mail, and finds an envelope addressed to him, from none other than Newt Scamander.

Updates. Messenger pigeons and owls drop their mail off discreetly at No-Maj postal offices, so this letter couldn't be more than a day old. Heart beating fast, Percival slides into the kitchen chair and taps the envelope with his wand, and it slides open, with a letter unfolding itself and hovering in front of him. It's a short, scribbled message.

 _Dear Mr. Graves,_

 _Excellent news! I'll be coming by earlier than scheduled. Tina and Queenie have been keeping me updated. I think progress is occurring a lot faster than I anticipated. I'll be by December Twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve! Can you believe it? Very excited to meet you and to see Credence again! Once the Obscurus is separated, we will be taking him to MACUSA, and registering him. I know you will be returning to your duties soon—I may take care of Credence afterward._

 _Well done and thank you. Please come to the Goldsteins' apartment at midnight tonight—December Twenty-third._

 _Newt Scamander._

Percival draws away, confused. Progress? What progress? He looks at the clock on the wall, which displays both time and date. Scamander's coming back tomorrow, or rather, midnight tonight. Percival skims through the message another time. What does he mean, 'well done'?

"Credence!" Percival calls, and the boy comes quickly, holding a wand with a wonderfully bright light at the end.

"Oh, good job," Percival says in approval, before gesturing at the floating paper. "Newt Scamander will be arriving tomorrow, ahead of schedule."

Credence's eyes widen in delight. "Oh! That's great news, right?" Percival smiles weakly in response. The younger man turns his attention to the letter, his eyes sweeping through the lines.

 _I know you will be returning to your duties soon—I may take care of Credence afterward._

Credence's eyebrows furrow at this as he repeats it aloud. He turns to face Percival.

"Mr. Scamander's suggesting that you stay with him, since I have to go back to work," Percival answers haltingly.

"Oh," is all Credence says, and It's a small, quiet, "Oh".

"I—I know you probably don't want to stay here on your own, cooped up, after you can finally live your own life," Percival says. "I—well, Scamander would probably take very good care of you. He'd probably take you on adventures, the man's a magizoologist…"

"Scamander isn't you," responds Credence, and his voice has a finality to it. "I want to stay with you." He looks up, and sits next to him at the table. "You promised me, remember? You'd be here with me… you'd teach me…"

Percival straightens his back. "Indeed," he says determinedly. He wants Credence at his side, desperately, more than ever. "Scamander and I will discuss this. Your best interest is at heart."

Credence clutches his hand suddenly. "Please, Percival. No matter what, I want to stay with you. Let me live with you. I'll get a job, I'll support myself. Please…"

Percival takes his hand and presses it to his face. "Of course, my boy." His eyes linger on Credence's, filling with love and adoration.

Later that night, Percival gets dressed and watches Credence shoulder on his old coat. Credence had refused to buy another one, saying he wanted this one for his own. Percival can only smile at this.

Credence has some doubts as they are about to leave the house.

"Percival… I remember Mr. Scamander told me that he knew someone like me. He knew a girl who was an Obscurial. He separated the Obscurus, but the girl died before he could save her," Credence says, and looks intently at Percival, who is a bit taken off guard. This is new information, and Percival's not sure if he wants to hear it now. "If that happens to me, I want to remember you like this—"

"Don't be silly, Credence," interrupts Percival. "Don't say that. It won't happen—Mr. Scamander will know what to do. You are strong." He presses a quick kiss to the boy's lips, wondering if he can transfer all the love he feels under his skin to him. In no universe will anything happen to Credence under Percival's watch.

The two step off into the darkness, illuminated by New York's glow, and they Apparate.

Arriving in front of the Goldsteins' apartment duplex, Percival approaches the door and knocks. A bit of shuffling occurs behind the door and it swings open to reveal a very disgruntled landlady. "Excuse me! Who are you looking for!?" she shrieks. "No man lives in this building!"

Percival steps back, surprised, Credence stumbling behind him down the steps. "Oh, I'm sorry—I'm looking for—"

"Hey! That's no one, no worries, just vacuum salesmen…" From within, Tina's voice rings out, and she pushes the landlady away, who limps, muttering angry words back to her door.

"Percival, Credence!" Tina says, smiling widely, face finally appearing at the door. "Quietly now, come in…" She looks back, watching the landlady enter her door before gesturing the two men in.

They make their way upstairs silently with the help of some _Muffliato_ charms, and Percival is back in the warm, floral-scented apartment of the Goldsteins'.

Credence is considerably less shy now; he smiles and waves at Queenie, who's inside cooking. Percival inclines his head hello.

"My, oh my," Queenie says, circling the two, and gestures for them to sit. She fluffs her blonde hair, frowning at the length of Credence's. "Credence, darling, I'd very much like to give you a quick haircut."

"Oh, leave him, Queenie!" Tina says, waving her hand. "He'll be fine."

"That's not what you said when I offered to give you a haircut," teases Queenie. "You wanna look all dolled up for Newt, huh honey?"

Tina only blushes furiously as she rolls her eyes and continues to clean out the guest room.

Internally, Percival is very thankful that Queenie doesn't say anything as she looks knowingly between the two of them. He's also thankful that both the Goldstein sisters did not comment on the marks visible on the boy's neck, which is only slightly visible if he ever leans down. He cringes a little, inside, to think of the things that Queenie must be seeing in Credence's head. Surely she's seen worse in other minds, but it's mildly embarrassing… But—at the same time, Percival isn't ashamed at all. He can't be prouder of his feelings towards Credence, and knowing the boy _reciprocated them_ …

As it draws closer to midnight, Tina grows increasingly more fussy, much to a chagrined Queenie and an amused Percival and Credence. Tina _clearly_ is excited for the magizoologist to come back. As Queenie banters back and forth with her sister, the two men decide to help pack the cooked food into boxes. Apparently, they're packed lunches—Percival privately takes note of that, thinking he'd have to start using that idea for when he returns to work. And maybe for Credence. It's a real money-saver, packing lunches.

The clock strikes midnight, with twelve resounding chimes from the Goldsteins' cuckoo clock in the kitchen.

A hush falls over the room. Credence is asking, "Should we be expecting him at the door?" when a loud crack resonates through the room, causing him to jump and Percival to lean forward eagerly. Newt Scamander—this might be interesting.

A young man, not much older than Tina, appears, having been given permission through the Goldsteins' wards. He's wearing a pale blue, wool jacket, and his head is topped with messy red hair, sticking up in the oddest directions. His eyes, a nice green, crinkle in a grin as he embraces Tina, and then Queenie. He stops in front of Percival, holding out his hand in warm greeting. Percival notices he constantly skirts eye contact—he attributes this not to suspicious behaviour but to plain, pure social awkwardness.

"Hello, Mr. Graves. It is a pleasure to meet you at last," Scamander says, and Percival gives him a firm handshake.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Scamander. Please, call me Percival," Percival replies, smiling formally.

"Likewise, call me Newt," smiles Newt. His green eyes flicker over Percival's, as he seems to be mulling over something. "Grindelwald's impersonation of you wasn't bad. But he missed something."

"Oh?"

"You lack the coldness that Grindelwald has. You're a much nicer man. Thank you for taking care of Credence."

Percival can't say he's not pleased. "I like you already, Newt," he announces, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Grindelwald also lacked a sense of humour and wouldn't have said that," Credence suddenly adds from behind them. Percival is pleasantly surprised by Credence's brave addition to the conversation, a surge of pride running through him. Newt brushes past him and observes Credence, who is watching him, with an air of caution but interest.

Newt's voice is friendly and gentle, lilting in a British accent. "Ah, Credence… Nice to meet you. Let me introduce myself properly: Newt Scamander, Magizoologist, Beast Division at the Ministry of Magic, and future author of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ a title coined by Tina over here."

Credence looks captivated by the new words he hears— _Ministry of Magic_ —and shakes his outstretched hand. "Credence Barebone."

It suddenly strikes Percival that Newt is just really good at reaching out to hurting, vulnerable beings—whether they are human or beast. Maybe that's why he took such a liking to the magizoologist immediately.

The adults in the room look at one another in a bit of an awkward pause before Newt suddenly brandishes his suitcase, settling it down on the floor. He flips open the two switches and the case creaks open. "Well, let's all take a trip downstairs and do what we can for Credence over here, shall we?"

Percival looks at it curiously, registering it as one of the bewitched objects you can enter, and then glance at Credence, who is staring in confusion at the suitcase.

"Downstairs?" the boy asks, and Newt looks like he's repressing a smile. Percival strides over and runs his hand over the back of Credence's neck, smiling.

"Remember that section about bewitching things in _The History of Magic_?" he asks, and Credence's mouth drops open as Newt climbs into the suitcase, seemingly fitting his whole body inside before disappearing out of sight.

Tina and Queenie giggle and follow suit. Percival and Credence, left in the now-empty apartment, look at each other.

"You are welcome to go first," Percival says, unable to resist a smile. Credence, gaping, makes his way over to the edge of the suitcase.

"What…?" he says, and Percival can see his mind working to make sense of it.

"That'll be about level six of our Charms textbook and Transfiguration," explains Percival matter-of-factly, and Credence only nods in mute understanding before he, at last, clambers into the suitcase. With a startled yelp, he disappears, and Percival laughs a little, fondly, before following him.

The suitcase clicks shut above him.

* * *

"This is wonderful," Credence says, in a voice filled with awe. "I can't… Wow."

Around them, outside of the wooden shack, there is a dark night sky and a moon that illuminates long blades of grass that extend as far as the eye can see, and an atmosphere that is filled with millions of crickets and a cool night breeze—the type created in a vast expanse. And they are in a _suitcase_.

Even Percival is impressed. "This is quality wandwork, Newt," he says, tapping the worn, dusty floors below him with his black leather shoes.

Newt nods in thanks and flourishes around him. "I just want to educate wizards on the keeping and health of these creatures. They are absolutely magnificent."

A tiny green creature peeks out from his lapel, and Percival peers closer. "A Bowtruckle?"

"Indeed," Newt says, lifting the Bowtruckle out from hiding. "His name's Pickett." He dangles Pickett from his finger towards Credence, who is amazed, eyes wide.

"My kitten's named Pip," he says quietly, trailing off, which makes the group laugh.

Newt continues to give them all a tour of the interior of the suitcase. Credence is astounded at every new creature present. He fondly pets the mooncalves and gapes eagerly at the Erumpent. There is a space of open plains, empty and massive, where, according to Newt, a Thunderbird named Frank used to live. "I may use this space to study other beasts—I'm heading to Southeast Asia soon," Newt says excitedly.

As they get to the Niffler, who's especially attracted to Percival for some reason—turns out to be the pocketwatch he carries—Credence turns to Newt. "Some day, may I return and bring a notebook with me? I… I want to remember this."

"Of course," answers Newt. "You are always welcome." Hs attention is now fully on the boy. "I believe it's time to give you a check up."

They have come back to the shed. A couple of rickety chairs provide somewhere for the Goldsteins and Percival to sit. Plants line the shelves inside, along with vials of mysterious liquids and potions. Papers are strewn on the desk, filled with line after line of complicated description of different beasts.

Percival settles, watching Newt pitter patter around his "office" of sorts. He comes out with an instrument that resembles a No-Maj stethoscope.

Credence freezes a little, which causes Percival to stand and come over.

"Do you want me to…"

Credence nods silently, and his hand reaches out for Percival's, who grips him in a firm, reassuring fashion.

"Alright," Newt mumbles thoughtfully from behind them. "Let's check on the status of this Obscurus, okay?" He approaches and politely asks for Credence to smooth back his hair. With a normal No-Maj stethoscope, Percival knows, the doctor listens to the person's heartbeat. But, Newt places his earpieces in and the instrument is pressed to Credence's forehead instead of his chest.

Newt is completely still, unmoving. His eyes are closed in concentration. Credence, eyes wide, stays immobile, watching Newt.

Newt's face flickers from a pokerface to joy and then back in the matter of two seconds. He pulls away, saying nothing, before walking back into his shack. He returns with a clipboard, seeming out of breath.

"Frankly, I…"

Percival watches him with anticipation. A sudden fear grips him—what if it is incurable? What if it can't be separated? What if—what if he can't be saved… what if he dies, like the girl? _Nonsense,_ he thinks immediately. Credence's face is unreadable, but he is focused intently on Newt, as are Tina and Queenie. The air, heavy and intense, weighs on Percival greatly.

"I've never seen something so cleanly separated before."

Percival mind spins. "Separated?"

Newt nods, tapping his quill to his chin, before analysing Credence. His eyes linger thoughtfully over the hickeys on Credence's neck, to which both Credence and Percival flush and look away.

"I see…" Newt muses, and scribbles something on the clipboard, before flipping to new page. "I have some questions for you," he says, and settles comfortably onto a stool.

Percival, still holding on to Credence, begins to let go and walk back to his chair but Newt signals for him to stay. "These questions are for you too, Percival. Important things. Both of you are to answer."

Queenie coughs and stands up, taking Tina's hands. "Come, Tina, let's feed the mooncalves," she says, and Tina seems to understand and the two flit away.

"Privacy," Newt explains after Credence's look of confusion. Percival has no idea where this is going, but he pulls over a chair and sits next to Credence, holding on to his wrist still. "Well, okay… first question. Please answer honestly. Have you been experiencing any visions of ancient magic? Vibrations and such?"

Percival jerks upright. "Yes, that's exactly what I've—what we've been experiencing," he says. Was this connected? Beside him, Credence nods. "They've been occurring often in the past couple of days. It didn't seem particularly harmful."

Newt makes a noise and scribbles something, before looking back up (eyes not meeting theirs, of course).

"Do you two have feelings for each other? Of love?"

Percival is entirely taken off guard. Credence seems to be the same, blushing deeply. "Ah—yes," answers Percival, after an uncomfortable pause, but steady. "Yes."

"Have you professed these feelings to one another?"

Feeling as if he is in a Healer's appointment at the wizarding hospital, Percival nods affirmatively, and he feels Credence's fingers squeeze his.

Newt _mmhmm_ s and is writing more on his clipboard, checking objects off.

"Interesting. And… have you physically expressed this love?"

Percival and Credence both stare at him. Newt coughs and then gestures neutrally at the ring of hickeys on Credence's neck.

"I'm assuming so. Was there a consummation?"

If Percival was drinking water, he'd do a spit take right about now. Credence has flushed a crimson red. "Consummation—I mean, yes, I guess—"

"Okay, that explains a lot," Newt says, jumping off his stool. "And you two have sort of pledged yourselves to one another? Or thought about it, in your heart? As in—you truly mean it?"

Percival blinks. How does he know? It hadn't been an official ceremony or anything, but Percival had already decided on it. Beside him, Credence answers resolutely, "Yes."

Touched, Percival nods his assent as well.

Newt places his clipboard under his arm and claps his hands. "Well, that's it, gentlemen. Your Obscurus is, for sure, separated. Just not extracted."

"I—what?" Percival is shocked. A hope has begun to spring from him.

Newt smiles. "Well, an Obscurus feeds on hatred and anger. Love can drive it out. Love at the level of yours—to the point of physical consummation, of becoming one together, one flesh—well that, that is strong enough to choke the life force of the Obscurus."

He swirls his wand, summoning his book. "Most Obscurials do not live past ten because they do not experience enough love, especially in their circumstances, and are eaten up by the Obscurus. Gradual parental, familial and friendship love would suffice, but usually it is not the case in most. Credence has surpassed that by sheer power, and with your type of love, Percival, the Obscurus has separated.

The magic you two have been experiencing, seeing the vibrations and whatnot around you, is the work of the ancient magic. Connecting the two of you together, joining you as one being, thus prying the hands of the Obscurus from your soul, Credence. Love can do many a thing. For example," and Newt stops to gesture for the two of them to follow him.

"I've theorized that if, say, a person was attempting to kill you—and someone who loves you deeply steps in front and sacrifices a life—well, after the person attempts to harm you, he or she simply cannot. The love that binds the two persons together into one is strong enough for anything, even a killing curse."

Percival understands now, and he only holds on to Credence's arm tighter as they trail behind him through the changing environments. Newt turns around and, at the two of them, chuckles a little bit.

"Your feelings are incredibly strong for one another. I've never seen it develop so fast. And powerfully, too. I was planning by January second it would be done, but Tina was telling me… so today it was…"

"Wait, what?" Percival says, Auror mind putting two and two together. He roughly grabs Newt by the elbow, pulling him to a stop. "You're telling me that you knew this was going to happen?"

Newt is entirely unfazed by his manhandling. Credence is also shocked, watching him with surprised eyes.

"Yes, I sort of knew that putting you together would be the solution," Newt says cheerfully. He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "Not only good for Credence, but especially good for you too, Percival."

Percival can't believe his ears. This man essentially has been playing matchmaker for the past month. It was to save Credence's life, but still, Percival doesn't know how to feel: partly flustered as if he's been used without permission, but partly relieved he has been.

His eyes are on Newt, who is smiling sheepishly with a hint of mischief, gaze flickering between the two of them, and it occurs to Percival that the Brit is much smarter than he lets on to be.

"Thank you," Percival finally says.

They arrive outside an entrance into another dimension. It's snowy inside, almost like a blizzard is blowing through the snowscape. They step through. The temperature drops about twenty degrees to one that makes Percival shiver. Around them, white-capped mountains loom. Credence slips on the coat he's been carrying—Percival's coat—and Newt Conjures a chair. He gestures for Credence to sit.

The extraction.

Percival watches apprehensively as Newt takes a deep breath, taking his wand from his pocket.

"Credence, I'm going to extract the Obscurus out of you now," he says. "This may hurt a little bit." Credence nods, and Percival instantly is at his side, offering his hand for comfort.

"Can you think of Grindelwald for me? Or can you think of your worst memory, or something that will tear at your heart? It will lure a tinge of the Obscurus to the surface."

Credence visibly pales but he is determined. He shuts his eyes, holding onto the armrests of the chair. Percival doesn't know what he's imagining, but in a few moments, he witnesses different emotions play through the boy's face. Sadness, fear, anger. In a moment, it's almost like they're resonating with Percival's feelings, too.

"That's it," whispers Newt, who is now swirling his wand, eyes fixed on Credence. He murmurs incantations after, a quiet, low hum. Percival tightens his grip on Credence's hand, but Newt places his fingers on the older man's shoulders.

"Let go," the magizoologist instructs urgently.

Reluctant, but recognising the gravity of the situation, Percival begins to let go, unfurling his fingers. Instantly, Credence's knuckles are white on the edges of the armrests—the absence of Percival's hand's comforting weight seems to trigger the boy.

Newt resumes murmuring incantations, and Credence seems to be curling into himself, shoulders hunching. He's whimpering like an injured animal, and Percival is reminded of the first time he found the boy wrapped up in sheets, covered with a cold sweat, and pleading with a false mother in his nightmares.

Black smoke unravels from Credence's head, first snaking out of his ears and then his eyes and nose and mouth, clouding the boy's features. Tendrils of it curl around his neck, down his torso, then up into midair. More and more pour out, joining the hovering, accumulating mass of black matter—of Obscurus. Inside are flashes of light, as if a lightning storm is occurring within.

Newt points his wand at the cloudy formation, volume of his spells increasing.

Credence is shaking, trembling, and Percival is so torn at this it's almost as if he has an Obscurus tearing at the insides of his soul himself. He wants so badly to comfort Credence, _his_ Credence.

The Latin words tumbling from Newt's mouth suddenly stop as a transparent but tangible substance is emitted from the magizoologist's wand. It encases the hovering Obscurus, closing it in as if it were a large, unpoppable bubble. Sagging, Credence suddenly gasps for air, as if he's finally allowed to breathe properly. Newt stands back, now carefully elevating the contained mass of Obscurus above their heads. He lowers his wand before he quickly picks up his clipboard and scribbles furiously on it—probably notes.

"How do you feel, Credence?" he asks, after pausing his writing. Percival cautiously approaches, and Newt signals with his hand he's good to go. Relieved, Percival comes back into contact with Credence's hand again, and Credence returns his grasp, seeming to breathe deeply.

"Better," the young man says, smiling. He looks a little less pale, with some more colour in his cheeks.

He stands, a little unstable, and leans against Percival for support.

Newt smiles at them both, running a hand through his coloured hair. "Good news for you both, gentlemen. That Obscurus is one hundred per cent extracted," he announces, and Credence suddenly stumbles forward to wrap his arms around the magizoologist. Percival smiles, watching him, feeling giddy with relief. There is liberation on Credence's face.

"Thank you, Newt," he says sincerely.

"You're very welcome. Hopefully you won't mind that I keep the Obscurus, though—it is powerless now, and if it makes you feel more comfortable, you are less of a potential threat now than Percival here," Newt replies, smiling widely, gaze meeting Credence and Percival's for a moment.

Percival chuckles, and his hand finds Credence's again.

"I'll be writing to MACUSA, maybe giving them some forewarning—tomorrow morning, we'll head down."

There is a look of renewed hope on Credence's face. The trio turn and return through the opening, leaving behind the clump of dark smoke in the frigid air.

* * *

"Graves, you didn't think of telling me this until now?" asks an exasperated Seraphina Picquery.

Her hands are on her hips and her brows knit together as she looks over the figure of Credence Barebone, whose existence, in the past two hours, has been reintroduced to MACUSA. Newt, who had the separated and removed Obscurus hovering beside him, was watching the two with a bemused interest. Tina, standing on the other side of Newt, is twiddling her thumbs.

Seraphina and Percival's relationship was an often tumultuous, strained one, but had a firm foundation of friendship built from their fierce competition in Ilvermorny. Percival spreads his hands placatingly. "Madam President, you would have had him in a holding cell the moment I told you."

"I should have _you_ in a holding cell now for hiding this information from me," Picquery retorts, and then pinches the bridge of her nose. "You ought to thank Mr. Scamander here for separating that Obscurus from Mr. Barebone, and returning him back to a normal wizarding citizen."

Newt mumbles a quick "I wasn't really the one who separated it" and Credence fidgets, clearly excited at the mention of "normal wizarding citizen". Percival bows his head, hiding his smile.

"Regardless. Mr. Barebone, with input from the magizoologist's observations, a Leglimens, as well as a few witnesses, I have deemed you fit to return to society, provided that you receive a wand, that you obtain the proper wizarding schooling in line with the Congress' Academic Curriculum—Graves has claimed responsibility for that—and that you submit to semi-annual check-ups here at MACUSA."

Tina pumps the air with her fist, before quickly calming herself to stay still next to a grinning Newt. Percival can feel an exuberant feeling building within his chest. Credence's eyes are wide, drinking in all of Picquery's words. "Thank you, ma'am… Madam President," he says reverently. Even the stern lines of Picquery's face soften at the child-like wonder and joy written on Credence's face.

"You're welcome, Credence," she says, calling him by his first name. She pauses, studying him and then Percival briefly, with a thoughtful intensity only the President can summon, before she Conjures a parcel from midair with her wand. Handing it to Credence, she continues. "Good luck, Credence. Your citizenship papers and other necessary paperwork are in there. We may call you for Grindelwald's trial, and Graves as well—but we've already got most of your information. The Ministry of Magic in Britain are seeking to take him after this."

Credence nods mutely, starstruck, clutching the parcel in his bony fingers like a lifeline—evidence that he belongs to a society of wizards and witches in New York.

"I look forward to hear of your progress. I should find that you will enjoy obtaining a wand," Picquery says, and Percival is dumbfounded at the tone of her voice—a little friendlier! Picquery must be changing too, or at least growing a little fonder of the boy.

"Already got him one," Percival says, a mischievous, smug tinge to his voice. He steers Credence around, and Newt and Tina—bright folk—have already fled out the door. Should Picquery challenge him to a race for Credence's affections, he'd beat her at it too, like that one Quidditch match when they were fifteen.

Picquery's gaze snaps up to him as Percival heads quickly towards the door, with the young man in tow.

"What? You got him a wand? Illegally? Graves, I'm going to kill you—"


End file.
